


Lay It Down To Save It

by ashkazora, crapoftheworld



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Racing, Eventual Keith/Lance (Voltron), M/M, Slow Burn, moderate burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkazora/pseuds/ashkazora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/crapoftheworld/pseuds/crapoftheworld
Summary: Leandro's family went missing, leaving him alone in the Lower Sector of Terra. When dodgy deals and nicking weaponry from the Upper Sector dried up, he turned to racing as a way to earn enough money to find them.Akira is a member of high society, a Galra living among the upper class. But his mother has disappeared under mysterious circumstances and the only way he can let off steam is by venturing downtown, into the dirty streets of lower Terra.After a race gone wrong, their paths collide, sending them careening into a whirlwind of action, adventure, and drunken escapades. When their freshly hatched plan goes sideways, can they rely on each other to make it out alive?
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	1. Backstory

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo friends!
> 
> Me (Rey, aka crapoftheworld) and Ashka (aka ashkazora) have done a small collab for Leakira Week! Today's prompt was Character Design, and tomorrow's is Backstory. Luckily for you readers, we're doing both at the same time! Behold, chapter one of our Leakira fic is up! And... what's this? Could it be that [I drew a character design for Akira](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/post/626567156262486016/this-is-my-design-for-akira-go-check) while [Ashka drew one for Leandro](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/post/626566900748566528/d-a-y-o-n-e-c-h-a-r-a-c-t-e-r-d-e-s-i-g-n)? I think... why yes, that could very well be the case!
> 
> Leandro POV: crapoftheworld ([Tumblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/))  
> Akira POV: ashkazora ([Tumblr](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/))

Leandro emerged from a grimy alleyway, immediately spotting the blinking neon sign of his favorite hole-in-the-wall joint in all of Terra -- Balmera Bar. Between the good drinks, great vibes, and the excellent bartending, there wasn’t much to not like about the place.

Actually, he could think of one thing.

He patted the pockets on his favorite duster coat, checking for his dual laser pistols out of habit before waving hello to the hulking bouncer guarding the Balmera’s door.

“Hey, Rax, what’s up?”

“Not so fast,” Rax grumbled, stopping Leandro from slipping past with one of his giant hands. “Got a permit for that piece?”

Leandro glanced back at where the handle of a sword he’d just lifted from a goon in the Galra district was peeking over his shoulder. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He gave a nonchalant shrug.

“‘Course I do, who do you take me for?” Rax just raised an unimpressed eyebrow as Leandro made a show of rummaging through his pockets. Gum, flask, guns, another flask, loose GAC, a… screwdriver? No tablet, no phone, and certainly no papers. “You know what, I think I must’ve left the, uh, the permit on my bike.”

Leandro was about to turn heel, already hatching a plan to sneak into the bar through the back entrance when the doors swung open and then the superior bouncer, in his humble opinion, was standing before him.

“Rax! Thanks for taking over for a-- Oh, hey Leo! It’s been too long!”

Then Leandro was being enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. He patted the enormous biceps that were squeezing the life out of him affectionately.

“Nice to see you too, Shay. Ease off a little, I can’t-- _agh,_ can’t breath.”

She finally released him, gripping his shoulders as she pushed him away to give him a once-over. Leandro wasn’t surprised when she clicked her tongue.

“Not enough meat on those bones these days, huh? You go on in and Hunare will get you some grub.”

“I’ve told you before, I’ve just got a lean build!” Rax snickered at that, and the power of the twin glares he received from his sister and Leandro was enough to have him tucking tail and slinking back into the bar to sulk. “Thanks, anyways, Shay. I could never say no to a home-cooked meal from Hunare.”

“No one can,” she replied, clapping him on the back and ushering him into the Balmera. “I better not be seeing you again tonight, except for the back of that bald head when you’re leaving.”

He chuckled, recalling the last time he had gotten into a drunken fight (something about defending Hunare’s honor) that had resulted in multiple patrons with broken bones and a few new laser holes in the bathroom door, courtesy of Leandro.

“First of all, it’s an undercut! It’s fashionable! Second of all, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from seeing this pretty mug.”

Shay laughed good-naturedly and then he was finally in the dimly-lit bar. Leandro inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of alcohol, smoke, and debauchery. This was one of the only good parts of doing what he did.

Leandro shouldered his way up to the counter, waiting patiently for his friend to wrap up whatever conversation he was having with the willowy girl to his right. Eventually, Hunare’s eyes landed on him and his smile morphed from one of pleasant disinterest to the genuine article. Leandro wore a grin to match.

“Buddy! Feels like I haven’t seen you since the whole car-jacking fiasco in the Upper Sector!” Hunare said, grabbing a bottle of cheap nunvill and sliding it over the counter to Leandro. “Where’ve you been?”

“You know… around. I’ve been meaning to come back sooner, but I’m pretty busy these days. Racing’s turned out to be pretty lucrative, and I’ve got a few side hustles going, too,” he answered, taking a swig of the nunvill and grimacing.

This particular batch was on the bitter side, but he could never be too picky with his liquor.

Hunare nodded appreciatively, taking a swig from his own bottle as he slung a dirty towel over his shoulder.

“How’s that coming, then? No sign of your family still?”

“Nope. All of my leads have turned into dead ends and no one in the Galra district is willing to talk,” he said, dragging his finger through a sticky puddle on the counter. “I’m picking up as much work as I can, but it’s rough out there.”

“You know, I’m always saying that--”

“Hunare, I’m _not_ taking your money. We talk about this every time! You have the bar and Shay and a _baby,_ for quiznack’s sake. I’m taking care of myself just fine.”

“...Alright, dude.”

Someone at the other end of the bar called for the bartender and Hunare gave Leandro an apologetic look as he hurried off to take care of his customer. Leandro took another swig of his nunvill, spinning in a slow circle on his stool to observe the various patrons.

He recognized most of them -- a collection of lowlifes, ex-cons, and some Alteans and Galrans who liked to moonlight as street rats but stuck out like sore thumbs. He would consider half of them mild acquaintances, the other half occasional enemies. No sign of Rowan. She happened to fall into both of the aforementioned categories.

If he was going to sell the blade slung over his back, he’d have to venture into the smoky cloud that obscured the booths in the back, where all the big players liked to hang out.

Hunare was desperate enough for money that he wouldn’t refuse any customers -- his only policy was no fighting, a rule that Leandro broke more often than not. He was lucky they’d grown up together in this town. Without Hunare and Shay, Leandro would probably be well and truly alone out here. Not to mention banned from the Balmera.

He dug some GAC out of his pocket, left it on the counter, and made his way to the booths to try his luck as a businessman. Hunare would’ve let him have the drink for free. Actually, he’d taken several free drinks at this point, plus there were the hundreds of drinks he’d put on his tab. Someday, he’d pay his friend back for his kindness, and until then he left a little money whenever he had enough to spare.

Leandro ran through the names of people he was likely to encounter in the booths. On a Friday night, the odds were pretty good that Rolo and Nyma would be hanging out. Sendak, maybe, though trying to sell that man a stolen Galra blade would be a truly idiotic idea. Dayak could be around, though she was more into antiquities. If he got lucky, Ryner might even be there -- she was the most reasonable criminal he’d ever met, and she knew her way around all of the latest tech.

Now that he thought about it, Leandro realized this weekend was one of those big Upper Sector functions, a gala or some shit. Rowan had mentioned something about it a few nights ago, and it would make sense -- the Balmera wasn’t filled to capacity with patrons like it would be on any other night.

He didn’t cough as he stepped beyond the cloud of smoke, too used to it by now. Leandro found his way to the first booth, taking in its occupants. _This could work._

“Lubos?”

“That’s _King_ Lubos to y-- oh. Leandro.”

Leandro grinned, sliding into the empty seat opposite the heavy-set man and the two thin women he had under each arm. _Ugh._ Lubos was… well, he was a little bitch, but he paid well. Leandro had done the odd job for him every once in a while.

“Got something you might be interested in.”

“Alright, little one, let’s see it.”

Leandro rolled his eyes as he pulled the sword from where it was sheathed at his back, setting it on the table. The blade glowed a dim purple and the hilt was wrapped in leather, probably yalmor hide. Leandro had nabbed it off of one of the guards to Zarkon’s estate when he was trying to break in to find more information about his family. Needless to say, he hadn’t been particularly successful apart from acquiring this blade.

“It’s an X-Gen Galra sword with all of the latest mods. Even has auto-balance.”

He demonstrated by picking up the blade, expertly swinging it around in an overly-complicated pattern, bringing it down sharply so that the tip floated directly over Lubos’ left eye. He flinched.

“I’ll admit that you find yourself with a rare piece,” Lubos said slowly, scooting away from the blade and tenting his fingers. “Six-hundred GAC.”

Leandro scoffed.

“Are you kidding me? I risked my hide for this thing! Nyma will give me at least a thousand GAC for it. If you want it, you’re gonna have to up the ante, _your highness._ ”

Lubos gulped. The blade _was_ a good find and Leandro knew it. He set it back on the table, relaxing into the worn leather of the booth and waiting. He knew Lubos would cave. He liked rare things and also happened to have beef with Nyma.

“Fine. Twelve-hundred GAC. Final offer.”

“Excellent,” Leandro crowed, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his Sincline-band and holding his arm out. Lubos held his own out, tapping their bands together and wiring the GAC to Leandro’s account. “Nice doing business with ya, big guy.”

Lubos grumbled, turning back to the blond woman on his left and ignoring Leandro as he slid out of the booth, feeling pretty good about his sale. He decided to stop by the bar again before he headed out.

“Hey, Hunare, I think I’m gonna call it a night!”

“After one drink? Seems out of character.”

“You know me. I like to keep you on your toes. Plus, there’s a big race this weekend.”

“Whatever you say. Oh, and speaking of racing, I finally got that part we were talking about for your bike. Come back in… say, a week and I can install that for you.”

“No way,” Leandro laughed, fist-bumping his friend. “You’re the best, dude. See you in a week, then.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Leandro skipped out the front door, making a point to make direct eye-contact with Shay as he blew her a kiss, and turned back into the alley.

Sunday's race was a big one. With all of the Galra in one place, there would no doubt be plenty of betting going on. If Leandro could win, he’d be well on his way to getting the fuck out of the Lower Sector.

Then he could kiss racing, petty crime, and alcoholism behind (though he really didn’t mind any of the above). He was on the home stretch.

Another day, another drink, and a few GAC closer to getting out of Terra so he could track down his family.

* * *

Socialising was an art. It took great strength and creativity to hold up a conversation, masterfully weaving it in a direction that one deemed prudent. The finer points of a discussion never came naturally, for one had to learn how to spin a tale and regale others with fissured words dipped in honeyed truths.

Akira certainly wasn’t one for socialisation, which was probably why he was standing in the corner of a decadent room, ignoring everything but the alcoholic drink in his hand. He swirled the burgundy liquid a couple times before downing it all in one go, wincing at the bitter aftertaste. Usually, he’d go for something a bit stronger, but this wasn’t the function to get smashed at.

Unfortunately, once again he’d been forced to attend the bi-annual gala dedicated to the businesses of the Galra and Altea families (and their many, _many_ branches). Born from a small offshoot of the Galra clan, Akira’s formative years had been spent being paraded around similar balls all in the name of representing the Kogane family. The only good thing that ever came out of events like these was being able to catch up with the select few he had bothered to get close to.

Looking up from his now-empty glass, Akira glanced around the room, searching for a particular someone in the crowd. It only took a moment for his eyes to lock onto a familiar face towering above the masses.

“Akira!” the man called, starting to walk over to him. He stood a head taller than Akira, handsome features marred by a rough gash across his nose and a shock of white hair in his once-black bangs. “Are you brooding in the corner again?”

Akira raised an eyebrow. “It’s good to see you too, Hachiko.”

The man -- Hachiko -- laughed heartily, slapping a large hand on Akira’s back. Akira winced, though he wasn’t uncomfortable with the close contact.

“How’s Dante? Is he here?” Akira asked, looking past his shoulder for a moment to see if the tanned man who usually trailed behind Hachiko at functions like these was here. 

Hachiko shook his head sadly. “He got caught up at work, unfortunately. Paperwork, and all of that,” he said, then with a coy smile, added, “He sends his love, by the way. Told me to tell you to enjoy yourself.”

Akira groaned; Dante’s antics no longer surprised him anymore. Before Dante married Hachiko, he and Akira had a rather strenuous relationship to say the least. Luckily that tension abated as the years went by, though on occasion he still had the urge to give Dante a good old right hook every once in a while.

“I’m surprised you came this year,” Hachiko said offhandedly, staring pointedly at everywhere other than at him. “I thought this year--”

“Yeah, well you thought wrong,” Akira cut him off abruptly, ignoring the way Hachiko flinched. His fingers twitched as he fought the all-too familiar urge to clench his fists. He didn’t want to talk about it, to think about it. Not here, not anywhere--

“I heard Alzina is here tonight. Apparently, she brought her partner as well.”

At that, Akira perked up. The main reason (if not for the social requirement of a Kogane representative at the gala) for his appearance probably was to see Alzina and maybe even Petra, if her brother managed to drag her out of her cave and into a dress. Both were from the Altean branch, though were maybe some of the only people who had gotten to know him well enough in his twenty-four years of life.

“I heard,” he replied shortly. Then, with a little more enthusiasm, added, “Her name’s Rowan. Met her once downtown.”

What Akira didn’t mention was that he met Rowan in the Lower Sector outside a not-so-legal bar, beating off an assailant with a rather nasty-looking tree branch. They bonded briefly over the versatility of organic material as weapons and then didn’t talk again until Alzina introduced them on a call a couple weeks back.

“Downtown?” Hachiko’s voice was even, though Akira knew him too well not to hear the underlying concern.

No matter how old he was, Hachiko never stopped trying to baby him. To the older man, Akira was still the small, lonely twelve-year-old who stole his hoverbike and cried over books. Through thick and thin their bond as brothers -- not through blood but by war-forged promises -- grew stronger and stronger, yet over a decade later Hachiko still tried to look out for him at every single moment. It was so frustrating sometimes, especially when it involved Akira going to the Lower Sector.

“There’s a couple bars on the edge of the sectors. I can bring you to one sometime. They’ve got great nunvill.”

Hachiko nodded as if he were considering the offer. Little did he know that Akira had no intention whatsoever of involving him with any places downtown -- there were things Akira wished to keep separate for obvious reasons.

“I might take you up on that sometime,” the older man said cordially. “But first, do you mind if I pop out to get a drink?”

“Go ahead.”

Hachiko smiled softly, turning around to leave Akira alone again in his little corner. Not that he particularly cared. Akira was used to the sound of solitary silence, the endless cacophony of white noise playing like music in his ears. But with Hachiko gone for the next who-knew-how-long, he found himself growing more and more bored with each passing second. Scanning the room again, Akira noted that he had lost his brother in the crowd of finely-dressed people. He was about to give up before a glint of pink fabric sparkled in the corner of his eye.

_Alzina._

The sight of the girl’s signature cotton candy dress made him smile.

It had been a while -- too long -- since he’d been able to talk to Alzina. Between the issues surrounding his mother and his activities down in the Lower Sector, Akira found himself more isolated than ever. Ignoring his friends' calls or avoiding their texts wasn’t something he meant to do. Consciously, at least.

Maybe it was time to reconnect a bit with Alzina. Hopefully she wouldn’t be _too_ mad that he had ignored her calls for a couple months.

WIth his mind made up, Akira detached himself from the wall, slowly striding across the room.

“Oh, Akira! Is that you?”

Akira whipped his head around. Next to him were a group of older Galran ladies, all with grey-hair and smiles just as real as his faux-leather gloves. The woman who spoke -- Senka, if he remembered correctly -- was staring up at him with a gleam in her purple eyes just a tad bit too sharp. 

“It’s been so long! How are you?”

Desperately, Akira searched around him for Alzina, but she’d been swept away in the crowd. It looked like he would have to do the one thing he hated: socialising.

“Fine,” he replied gruffly, before remembering his mother’s tips about acting in a refined way appropriate for company. He strained his back and plastered on what he hoped was a natural smile, then added, “I’ve been thoroughly enjoying myself here. And you?”

“Perfect, my dear. Just perfect,” Senka said. “Coincidentally, Ms. Prorok and I were just talking about you. How funny is that?”

 _“Funny,”_ he echoed, not at all liking where the conversation was heading.

“You see, we wanted to know how you were going,” Senka cooed with a saccharine sympathy, something that made Akira want to gag. “I’m sorry for your loss, it must be difficult to lose someone so close to you.”

Akira went to answer but bit his tongue just as fast, grinding down a scathing comment. He couldn’t get angry, not here. The Galran families were like vultures -- the moment someone showed weakness they’d strike hard and fast, plucking out your entrails like their boring, pitiful, _sheltered_ lives depended on it.

“Yeah,” he bit out, refusing to look anywhere but at the floor near his shoes.

“She was so young, Krolia. She was young when she had you, wasn’t she?”

Nodding mutely, Akira imagined himself anywhere but there. In his mind, he was back in the Lower Sector, driving on his beloved hoverbike beside crumbling buildings and unfinished scaffolding like his life depended on it, wind rushing through his hair and the ever-present neon glow of the Lower Sector reflecting off his windshield. It was his happy place, downtown where the upper class refused to touch.

“Poor girl. Always getting into things she shouldn’t.”

Another Galra lady, one Akira didn’t recognise, chimed in. “That Krolia was certainly the rebel. Remember when she disappeared all those years ago for a couple months?” The other women nodded sagely. “She left her whole family in a tizzy and came back pregnant without the father. How… peculiar.”

Akira couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m leaving.”

Without second thought Akira turned on his heel and stomped away from Senka. His mind raced with _howdareshehowdareshehowdare--_ yet, how could he expect any better? Every year ended the same; some old hag would say something and either Hachiko or his mother would calm him down.

This year, well…

Something gripped at his hand, cold metal and nothing that he wanted right now. Akira snatched his arm back, barely registering the people that he shoved past or his exit out of the main doors.

Everything after that was a blur. It was like his mind was stuck in a haze, red fog clouding every sense.

He promised himself that he would _never_ go back to one of those wretched events again.

Time trickled by like sand in an hourglass and before long, Akira had walked all the way back to the entrance of his apartment tower. Tall blocks of glass and steel amalgamations loomed over him, though he paid no attention to the normally breathtaking sight. A short elevator ride up to his penthouse suite solidified the anger simmering beneath his skin.

 _She’s not dead. They’re all liars._ Akira repeated again and again in his mind, letting the matra overtake his thoughts. Body working on autopilot, he barely registered opening his front door and storming into the bathroom underneath all the ire that tainted the night.

_She’s not dead, she’s not dead, she’s--_

Suddenly, a buzz from his Sincline-band knocked him out of his thoughts. A blue holoscreen popped up, displaying the name ‘Hachiko’ as well as a few icons at the bottom.

 _You’ve got to be kidding me._ Akira furiously swiped his other hand left. There was no way he wanted another lecture about respect from Hachiko. He was a goddamn _adult,_ for fuck’s sake!

The Sincline-band buzzed again, and Akira let it ring and ring until his brother got tired of calling. It eventually stopped, plunging his apartment into an eerie silence. He was finally alone with his thoughts.

Akira looked at the mirror, staring frustratedly at the stranger who glared back. They wore a too-stiff suit, a too-straight necktie, and slicked hair that made them seem so foreign.

Akira’s fingers twitched. Revulsion coursed through his body. No, this wasn’t him. This image, figure, couldn’t be him. He was sick of his house, sick of the Galra. Everything about the night seemed wrong, so wrong, and he just couldn’t--

His fingers twitched again. Before he knew it, Akira had ripped off his expensive formal clothes and ruffled up his hair to it’s normal, disheveled state. As alabaster-white strands of hair fell loosely around his neck, he suddenly felt freer than before.

The figure in the mirror didn’t seem as strange anymore.

For a minute or so Akira stood there, watching his reflection breath in and out. As the seconds rolled by, the discomfort in his body grew. Something _itched_ underneath his skin, primal and eager.

It didn’t take long for him to make up his mind.

Chucking on his signature outfit, Akira made his way to the building’s elevator, travelling all the way down to the basement. With the Upper Section’s reliance on personal chauffeurs or private hovercars there was no need for regular storage of personal vehicles. Luckily, his apartment had a space just big enough to house his pride and glory: _Red._

And there, in all its elegance, the hoverbike stood, dark burgundy paints reflecting the little light that managed to seep into his building’s carpark.

Without a moment to spare, Akira put on his visor and started the engine. Like a lion’s roar, his hoverbike sprung to life. Within a heartbeat it took off, sending Akira hurtling out of the garage and into the dimly-lit streets of the Upper Sector. He pressed down on the accelerator harder and harder, excitedly watching as the speedometer ticked closer and closer toward the limit.

Screw galas and uptight formals, _this_ was the life.

At this speed, the neon lights above him blurred into one solid line. The elegant high-rises of the Upper Sector slowly bled into the familiar sights of the dilapidated, dark buildings in the Lower Sector. Even though he had been born and raised uptown, riding to the lower parts of the city felt like he was coming home.

There was an odd… _serenity_ that came with speeding down highways as fast as he could. When he was young (and still to this day) Akira always found that riding his hoverbike was a much better relaxer than therapy or taking a break would ever be.

Sure enough, the adrenaline and fury that once raged through his veins had slowed down to a tiny trickle, barely there yet ever-present. For a while Akira felt truly at peace -- it was just him and the road, no one else.

Of course, he had spoken too soon.

As if on cue, green, blocky letters appeared on the edge of his visor.

** > heard u stormed out of the gala tonite**

Akira frowned. Normally he’d jump at the chance to talk to Petra, but today he simply wasn’t in the mood.

With a quick blink Petra’s message disappeared from the visor, his focus directed to the road once again. But like always, another message popped up.

** > finished the parts for ur bike. come over and itll be ready tomorrow**

** > ur so gonna kill the races. bet**

He couldn’t help but stare at Petra’s messages fondly, her absolute lack of any grammar or punctuation rather endearing. Something electric starting building back up under his skin. If what his friend’s message said was true, then Akira’s day just got a whole lot more interesting.

With a determined grin, Akira revved his hoverbike, sending it hurtling toward her house.


	2. Motorcycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Twenty-six. Twenty-five. Twenty-four. Twenty-three.”
> 
> Leandro hummed to himself, a simple tune his mother used to sing to him and his siblings while she was cooking dinner or putting them to sleep. He would find her. He would find them all.
> 
> “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.”
> 
> Interlock’s activated, dynotherms connected, infracells are up, mega thrusters are go.
> 
> “Three. Two. One.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hewwo everyone, welcome back!
> 
> Ashka here, posting the second chapter to this fic for today's prompt, 'Motorcycle.' Without further ado, here's chapter two (ha)
> 
> Leandro POV: crapoftheworld ([Tumblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/))  
> Akira POV: ashkazora ([Tumblr](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/))

Of all the houses one would expect for a millionaire family that ran one of the largest tech companies in Terra to live in, this wasn’t one of them.

Akira stood in front of a moderate sized homestead, rather unassuming aside from its detachment from the rest of the Upper Sector. It almost looked like it had been cut straight out of an old history book -- a two-storey painted brick facade with black-out windows. To the unsuspecting eye the Holt family’s home looked like a quaint project reminiscent of a time where the city wasn’t closed off to the outside, or when the average person lived in houses instead of coffin-like apartments.

However, Akira knew better. 

“Oi, ‘Kira!”

The large (and probably fake) wooden door to the house swung open, revealing a short silhouette standing against a dark, almost eerie background. 

“Petra, it’s good to see you.”

The figure stepped out of the darkness. For a moment, the glint of the sunset’s light catches on their glasses, lighting the whole lens up with a glow. Then, from the inky-black shadows, Petra emerged. 

Green disheveled pyjamas and cropped hair sticking out in every single direction, it was hard to take her seriously. With her glasses askew, self-proclaimed babyface and height that barely reached five feet, looks were always deceiving when it came to Petra.

As Hachiko used to say, the girl was eight feet worth of personality compressed into a little girl’s body.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Petra exclaimed, opening the door wider. “Come in, idiot. It’s freezing outside.” It really wasn’t, though Akira took it as an invitation to go inside. 

Walking through the door, he was greeted by the usual site of the Holt’s house in complete disarray. Clothes strewn over the laundry floor, couches in the living room missing their pillows, and family photos hanging askew on the corridor walls. As Akira wandered deeper into the house, he had to step over a couple dismantled power outlets and other wire-clad inventions sprawled on the ground. The Holt’s house was truly a _big, fucking mess._

Once, the clutter would have gotten on his nerves, though years of exposure had gotten Akira used to it. The house had a lot more personality, in a way. It certainly felt more homely than his neat, orderly, _bland_ apartment. 

“Wait here. I’ll bring your hoverbike to the garage,” Petra said, dashing back out of the house.

“Be careful with her!” Akira called to her retreating figure. She took no notice and slammed the front door shut, leaving him to entertain himself. 

For a pregnant moment, Akira stood in the middle of the Holt’s living room, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to another. As time slowly ticked by and Petra’s absence grew louder and louder, he sat back on one of the comforters, observing the walls littered with family photos, genuine newspapers that were made of _actual_ paper, and other tidbits intermixed. 

It had been a while, too long, since he had been over to see Petra and her mother. In fact, he hadn’t seen her physically since…

Well, since Krolia has disappeared. 

Petra’s own family -- her father and brother Matan -- had been on a trip outside of Terra when contact had gone dark. When this first happened Akira devoted all of his time to help Petra try to reestablish a connection with them, but once his own mother disappeared the pain associated with Petra’s family grew too much.

But now he was back. It had been a couple months since then, and Akira was stronger. 

“So, Kira.” Akira whipped his head around to see Petra standing in the doorway. Her hands were smudged slightly with black grime, undoubtedly from Red and her engine. “Your bike’s looking good, but there’s a couple things I want to fix up and it’ll take a while. Do you mind staying overnight so I can finish it?

Akira opened his mouth to answer, but a beep from his Sincline-band cut him off rather rudely.

** > Where are you? **

Protected by the band, a familiar purple text was projected for all to see. Akira scowled, motioning to swipe it away before another, longer line interrupted it.

** > Dante and I came around to your place. Please tell me that you’re safe.**

A frustrated snarl erupted from his mouth. He didn’t want to deal with Hachiko -- not now, not ever. Who was _he_ to act like Akira’s dad?

With one swift motion his hand cut through the hologram, swiping Hachiko’s message into oblivion. Then for good measure, Akira fiddled with his band, turning off all the notification and message systems. Finally, he’d be in peace. 

“That was… violent.” 

Akira flinched, startled by Petra’s wry comment. For a moment he had forgotten that she was here with him. 

“It was apt,” he shot back, meeting her gaze unwaveringly. “Hachiko needs to stop babying me. I’m twenty-four, for _quiznak’s sake_.”

Petra shrugged, not particularly caring either way. As one of Akira’s only friends she knew at least _some_ of what had been happening in his life for the past couple of months, though due to the circumstances of her own family she’d been too distracted lately for him to confide in her. 

“That’s what older brothers are like, Kira. Matan’s the same.”

_Is._

It seemed like Petra was still holding out hope for her brother.

“So, uh,” Akira said, trying to change the subject, “if you’re going to work on Red overnight, I can just chill on the couch.”

Scoffing, the girl shook her head as if that idea had personally offended her. “Dude, Mum would _kill_ me if she found out that I made a guest sleep on our couch. You can stay in the spare room.”

He nodded. From there, it only took a minute for Petra to set up the guest bedroom. Akira brought nothing with him except for the clothes that he wore so she also gave him a spare set of fluffy orange pyjamas for sleeping in. It took all of his willpower not to think of them as Matan’s.

A small dinner and a cool shower later, Akira lay on the fold-out bed, looking at the ceiling. He could faintly hear a high-pitched metallic ringing, probably Petra tinkering with his bike. It was times like these, late at night, where he could be alone with his own thoughts without the distraction of others or Red. 

It was times like these when Akira hated listening to his own thoughts.

Akira couldn’t tell where consciousness ended and dreams started. Every single moment flashed red-hot, toxic conceptions and false impressions clinging onto him like dried mud. When sunlight filtering in from the window finally woke him up from his tumultuous rest, Askira felt like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

He quickly changed out of the pyjamas and into his own familiar clothes, desperate to rid himself of the sweat-soaked fabric. Like most days, he forgoed breakfast and made his way downstairs and out the back, where Petra stood in an oil-stained tanktop and sweatpants, bent over the back of his bike.

“Mornin’,” Akira muttered, his body too tired to sound any more jovial. 

Luckily, Petra didn’t seem to care. “Good morning!” She grinned, turning around to face him. “How’d you sleep?”

Akira shrugged. “Like always.”

At that, Petra winced. When the two first met, one of the things they bonded over was their mutual troubles with insomnia and a proper sleep schedule. 

“So? What do you think?” Stepping aside, she raised her hands to present his hoverbike in its full, newly refurbished glory.

Akira raised an eyebrow critically, purple eyes surveying Red. He didn’t see any of her usual dents and scratches, and a new coat of paint had obviously been applied, giving the hull a shiny red look. The most obvious change, however, was the brand new sparkling engine, gold pipes slightly exposed. It looked… complicated. Highly advanced.

Akira grinned.

He _loved_ it. 

“What’s with the engine?” he asked, walking closer to his bike, prodding and poking some of the new additions. For some reason, Petra had replaced his once-worn and frayed seat cushion with a completely new one. It even had her signature comic-face inscribed on it.

“Oh, y’know, I did a bit of tweaking. Fixed up a couple pipes and ports. The camshaft gear should stop jamming now, by the way,” Petra said, trying to keep her voice level. But by the way a slight waver of excitement crept into it, she was obviously hiding something else. Something special. 

“That’s all?” Tilting his head, Akira shot his friend a deadpan expression.

Petra’s face twitched. Within a couple of seconds, a devious grin spread across her face. “You might want to check out the mega thrusters during the race. They’re a bit… _explosive_.”

Akira felt himself mirroring Petra’s smile. 

“The efficiency of the infracells has been increased tenfold, too. And don’t get me started on the improved friction of the motor,” the girl said, looking at his bike like it was her whole word. It probably was, to be honest. She had always lost herself in her projects, and ever since her brother and father left, her obsession with technology had gotten worse. 

Giving his hoverbike another sweeping look of approval, Akira whistled. Petra had really outdone herself. 

“How’d you do it? That sounds like a _lot_ of engineering.”

“It _was,_ ” she chuckled. “There’s this one dude I’ve been talking to on an online forum. We’ve been, uh, _discussing_ ideas.”

Knowing Petra, whatever she was doing online wasn’t quite legal. She may have been a teenager only a couple months ago but _quiznak_ was she deep into the dark web. It was almost scary how terrifying she could be sometimes. Akira worried about her safety, though she could probably take care of herself well enough.

The pair lapsed into a silence, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. That was one thing he liked about Petra -- she never forced a conversation and enjoyed silence as much as he did.

“So,” Akira cleared his throat, “how much do I owe you?” 

Petra waved her hand as if she was brushing off his words. “Don’t worry, this one’s on me. Though if you win, I wouldn’t mind a little bit of that prize.”

“Prize?” he said, a little too monotone to sound normal. “There’s a prize?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Kogane. Tonight's race is funded by your relatives. That means big cash.” And with great gusto, she repeated, _“Big cash,”_ as if once wasn’t enough for emphasis. 

Akira sighed. He could never get anything past Petra. To be fair, she had been making repairs on his hoverbike for years -- mostly for free. Or food as payment. Or information. 

“Fine,” he relented. 

Petra gave him a toothy grin, then proceeded to punch him rather harshly in the shoulder. 

“You better be off soon. Isn’t the race on tonight?”

A quick glance at his Sincline-band confirmed that the race was, in fact, that night. And judging by how the sun hung lazily in the smog-ridden air, casting a shadow that barely stretched behind the two, he only had a handful of hours until it started. His eyes widened, a rush of panic hammering through his veins.

“Shit--” Akira sucked air through his teeth, trying to calm himself down. It was a tick he picked up from his mother, though only after she had… left. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll come by later.”

Shrugging, the girl waved him off like it was no big deal. “Don’t worry, I’m used to your weird pre-race anxiety. Good luck, alright? Break a leg.”

Grabbing the new (and improved) helmet off the end of his hoverbike, Akira nodded. He put it on and buckled it, briefly surprised when a bunch of new programs immediately appeared on the holovisor. _Looks like Petra added a lot more than she let on_.

Starting the engine was almost too easy -- Red used to purr like a lion but now her motor _roared_ to life. It was…

_Beautiful._

_Quiznak_ , Petra had outdone herself. 

And as he squeezed the clutch, sending his hoverbike hurtling down the Holt’s cracked bitumen road, Akira faintly heard Petra call out, _“And text me when you win!”_

Now that, Akira could do.

-

Arriving at the track was no small deal. Most racers made a spectacle out of it, flaunting their jacked-up, illegally modified hoverbikes and equally buzzed crew. _Posers,_ Akira liked to call those people. Money couldn’t buy skill, and certainly not skill on the racecourse.

Usually races like these were much more lowkey than the one Akira had just arrived at. With an average of a half-dozen, maybe a dozen riders on a good day, smaller, less showy hoverbike races would happen every couple of weeks, exclusively in the back-alleys of the Lower Sector. However, once or twice a year, whoever-the-hell funded the races pooled together their money to bribe the police into allowing it to take place in a track spanning the Lower Sector and coming close to Rift between the Upper and Lower Sectors. The track wasn’t the only thing upgraded -- the prize money was an absolute fortune.

Akira never paid attention to the money -- he already had enough from Krolia and his ties to the Galra family -- though he suspected it was edging into the tens of thousands. Maybe more. 

Standing at the entrance of the temporary pavilion, Akira could already feel adrenaline thrumming through his veins. Even though the race wasn’t due to start for an hour or so a sizable crowd had already grown, ranging from the diehard racing fans, a couple of inconspicuous-looking officials, and his competitors with their crews. 

Ignoring the stares of others, Akira made his way over to the central pavilion, signing in as his usual name. He used to ride by an alias, _Yorak,_ though as he started garnering more and more wins did the recognition around him grow. Eventually, some old school friends outed his true identity.

After that, there was no need to fake his name or disguise himself with a blackened helmet. Nowadays Akira had enough notoriety to simply ride as himself, without any facades. It was maybe the only place where he could be, well, _himself._ Without having to alter or fake some part of his identity for the benefits of old geezers who cared more about the hordes of GAC in their banks than anything else.

To him, racing was _freedom._

Just as he turned to exit the pavilion, a flash of blue neon caught his eye. Something beautiful, bright azure, flicked from the growing masses of racers, before disappearing entirely. 

_Huh._

For a moment Akira stood in the middle of the pavilion just… staring. Yet the blue didn’t reappear. 

_Weird._

Shrugging the rather strange experience off, Akira wheeled his hoverbike into the farthest corner of the starting site, double-checking that everything was up to standard. With slightly oil-greased hands, he tinkered with the handlebars to adjust them to the right height before double checking that all systems were operational. And just like always, no one bothered him.

In Akira’s early days, older and more experienced riders would give him grief before most races. It was a hazing ritual, he assumed, one that, after he decked some uptight bikie called Griffin in the face for messing with his motor, never happened to him again.

A small smile appeared on his face. _God_ was punching Griffin satisfying. He should do it again, sometime. 

“Racers, your race will begin in sixty seconds. Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.”

 _Quiznak._ Akira didn’t realise that the time had passed so quickly. He hurriedly pushed Red over to the starting line, where dozens of other riders started gathering. As one of the stronger racers, he had his unassigned starting place to the front of the pack.

The moment he mounted Red, Akira’s brain immediately went into overdrive, every neuron firing on how he was going to complete the course. He’d be going into the race having a slight advantage -- Petra had done some digging on the location of the track, and he had managed to scope out most of the course the day before it was officially to be announced (and closed off to the public).

Yet the track wasn’t the hard part of the race. The deadly, cutthroat, and truly terrifying parts were the other racers with their modded vehicles and most likely illegal weapons. Akira had raced hundreds of times, and each time brought a new face with new weapons, tactics, and motivations.

This time was no different. As he looked around, there were at least a couple of riders he had never encountered. 

“Forty-two. Forty-one. Forty.”

Akira shook his head, ridding himself of the haze between his ears. 

_Stay focused._ He chanted to himself. _You can do this. Just complete the course and watch out for the others._

What was it that Hachiko used to say? _Patience yields focus._

“Twenty-six. Twenty-five. Twenty-four. Twenty-three.”

A mess of notifications popped up on his visor.

_ Infracells: active  _

_ Megathrusters: active  _

_ Flame Boosters: active  _

Flame Boosters? That was new. Another one of Petra’s ambitious additions, if Akira had to guess. Her effort, as commendable as it was, probably went to waste. He had his trusty sword strapped to his back, his mother’s blade bolted to his thigh, and a blaster tucked away in a small compartment just beneath his handlebars.

No technology could beat a good old edge. Those weapons had saved his life multiple times, on and off of the race track. 

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.”

_Breath. You can do this._

Red’s engine roared to life like a trusty lioness awakening from its slumber. The seat underneath him shook, and so did his nerves.

 _Breath._ He repeated. _Breath._

“Three. Two. One.”

Akira clamped down on the ignition, sending Red hurtling down the track with a leonine snarl etched onto his features.

He would either win this race, or die trying. 

* * *

Leandro glanced around him, taking in the sea of neon visors and racing jackets he was immersed in. He ran through his mental checklist again as he revved his hoverbike, delighting in how it hummed beneath him, raring to go. _Interlock’s activated, dynotherms connected, infracells are up, mega thrusters are a go_. He was ready.

The streets in the Lower Sector had cleared out. Word always got around town fast, and tonight would be no different. Well, it was a bit different. Lots of money on the table this time around.

“Leandro? You’ve got some nerve showing up here tonight. No rules on the road. You never know what might happen.”

Leandro didn’t have to glance back to know it was James Griffin who was talking to him. A few weeks ago they’d done a job for Nyma and ran into some… problems with the _Alteans_ , of all people. So Leandro had done the reasonable thing -- metaphorically (and physically) stabbed him in the back to get away with the goods.

Leandro didn’t have to split the profits with him and Griffin got free medical attention in Upper Sector jail to boot. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable turn of events, in his opinion. Still, he wasn’t surprised to be on Griffin’s hit list. And… _yup_. Rizavi, Kinkade, and Leifsdottir were sitting on hoverbikes right behind him.

Getting on the bad side of the leader of a notorious biker gang wasn’t his smartest idea ever. Despite all of this, Leandro wasn’t worried. This wasn’t his first race, and Griffin and his posse certainly weren’t the first people to have it out for him.

“Strong words coming from someone who finished tenth last race.”

He still hadn’t turned back to face James, but he could practically feel the heat of the glare burning his neck through his popped collar. He ran through his checklist again, foot tapping on the gas.

Finally, the robotic voice of the announcer boomed through the crowd, rising above the humming of the motors and chattering of the racers.

“Racers, your race will begin in sixty seconds. Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.”

Leandro’s fingers tightened on the handlebars. It was a new route today, cleared out specifically for this race by the police. It was looking like an interesting one -- through Lower District, up past the Rift, skirting the border, then cutting through mid-town and circling back to the overpass to finish.

Theoretically, easy. When Leandro wasn’t racing, he could complete a lap that covered the same amount of distance in around ten minutes flat. But it was cutthroat on racing nights, and these people were out for blood. He could count on guns blazing, ‘illegal’ hoverbike modifications, and new obstacles galore. Especially tonight.

“Forty-two. Forty-one. Forty.”

He had his pistols. He had his knives. Blue was purring and Leandro knew that was the sound of a healthy motor. He knew Griffin was somewhere behind him in the sea of hoverbikes, and he also knew that he’d likely remain behind him for the entirety of the race.

Leandro was good. No one gets an Altean sponsorship for being shit on a bike.

“Twenty-six. Twenty-five. Twenty-four. Twenty-three.”

He hummed to himself, a simple tune his mother used to sing to him and his siblings while she was cooking dinner or putting them to sleep. He would find her. He would find them all.

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.”

 _Interlock’s activated, dynotherms connected, infracells are up, mega thrusters are go_.

“Three. Two. One.”

And then Leandro was a blue blur in the neon streets of the Lower Sector, Blue easily cutting through the competition.

Leandro’s blood sung through his veins as he leaned into the road, the adrenaline pumping through his heart.

There were more than the usual thirty or so bikes on the road tonight, all looking to take their share of the giant pot, but he already knew the main competition. The Galra half-breeds liked to race, and they happened to have access to assembly-line hoverbikes. They were fast, sure, but nothing like Blue.

The night air was full of buzzing and droning and whoops and shouts as drivers zoomed under the bridge, emerging into the housing district in the Lower Sector. An asshole on a yellow hoverbike butted up against him, and before he could react another yellow hoverbike was on his other side, leaving him sandwiched between them.

Classic tactic, easily countered. Leandro cut Blue’s engines for all of five seconds, the two yellow bikes zooming ahead and crashing into each other without Leandro’s bike in between. They spun off the road as Leandro flipped them off, laughing as he and several other bikes sped past. He hoped the drones floating above his head had caught that.

He’d lost some of his momentum, which would cost him, but he was already coming up on the Rift, the division between the Upper and Lower sectors. He could make up the ground there.

A lot of bikes behind him had been wrecked in the initial bloodbath as everyone scrambled to find their spot on the road. Leandro couldn’t see behind him, but there were about twenty bikes ahead of him. He saw the neon fence that was the Rift up ahead, passing two more bikes as he took a tight corner.

Leandro heard an all too familiar whirring above the sound of Blue’s own engines. An illegal mod -- specifically, a hex-line. Leandro chanced a glance back, seeing that a matte black bike had hooked onto his rear-wheel with the barbed line. It would finish locking on in about ten seconds and then send a shock of electricity that would send Blue spiralling out of control.

“Hey, c’mon!” he yelled in frustration, knowing full-well that the drones had a very clear view of this.

He doubted those particular drone clips would be making it onto the official recording that would be distributed in the Terran markets later.

At least Leandro had dealt with hex-lines before. Hunare had helped him with some simple defensive mods, and though none of those would help right now, the convenient switch for balanced steering -- a legal variant of auto-pilot -- would be perfect.

Leandro flipped it on and released the handlebars, leaning back in his seat as Blue wobbled dangerously. He squeezed his knees, trying to keep his bike steady. By his count, he had about five seconds left to detach the hex.

Leandro pulled one of his throwing knives out of his sleeve and flicked it at the line, quietly bemoaning its loss. He saw the electric current running through the hex a second later, but the line was detached and Leandro was already sitting up again, Blue back under control.

The biker on the black motorcycle hissed at the sudden loss of tension on the line, yanking his bike away from the fence that was so close Leandro could hear it humming with electricity. Unfortunately, the driver overcompensated, cutting diagonally across the path of two other bikes.

Leandro gunned the engines again, narrowly avoiding a scrap of hoverbike from the major wreck he’d just avoided. He could see ten-ish bikes up ahead, and a glowing red bike way in front of the rest. Now that they were past the Rift, Leandro was heading back into mid-town, where it was mostly a straight shot until the overpass.

And Blue did particularly well in conditions such as those.

Despite being mostly custom built by his father and Marco, and later fixed up by Leandro himself and Hunare, Blue had to be one of the best hoverbikes out there. She gained momentum easily, cutting through the streets and handling like a dream, smooth and perfect.

Leandro passed a green bike. Another blue bike. He had his sights on the red one. From this distance, he could tell it wasn’t a hunk of mismatched parts like his -- it was probably assembly-line Galra tech, though obviously modified. And… that was a _mullet_ sticking out from under the driver’s helmet. _What an asshat._

The overpass was coming up, the most dangerous part of the race. Drones didn’t go under there, and the tunnel stretched for about a mile. As Leandro had learned in the past, a lot could happen in the mile.

One by one, the bikes ahead of him passed into darkness. Leandro drove on. He knew one of those bikes up ahead was Griffin, who had passed him when he’d pulled that trick at the beginning of the race. Leandro would race fair -- unless, of course, he was forced to defend himself. _God_ , he hoped Griffin would do something stupid.

Leandro smiled as his visor automatically switched to night vision. He was in the tunnel.

Not two seconds later, orange lasers were zipping at him from up ahead.

“Playing dirty tonight, are we Griffin?”

“It’s just business,” James shouted back from somewhere up ahead, and Leandro yanked his bike to the side, dodging another onslaught of orange lasers.

He pulled out his own laser pistol with a free hand and shot out Rizavi’s rear thruster, the driver who’d been closest to him. She had to bail on her bike as it spun into the wall, falling to the ground in a shower of sparks.

Then Kinkade was on his right, angling his bike to try to corral Leandro into the opposite wall. And it was working. Kinkade was good, anticipating every move Leandro tried to get around him.

For some reason, Griffin and Leifsdottir had stopped shooting, and Kinkade and Leandro were way too consumed in outmaneuvering each other to take a hand off of the handlebars, but then the red racer from up front was pulling up beside Kinkade and releasing… was that accelerant?

Leandro scraped against the wall of the tunnel, avoiding the trail of liquid the red bike had created. Griffin, Leif, and Kinkade were all heading right through it. And then the red driver was activating his boosters and _flames_ were bursting out of their rear thruster, igniting the accelerant.

He heard three curses as Griffin and his lackeys spun out, engines severely damaged by the hellfire -- they were probably out for the count. Leandro avoided their wayward bikes, easily passing two more to pull up beside the red one that had just come to his aid. He tried to get a good look at the driver’s face, but he couldn’t see much beyond the snow white mullet the guy was sporting.

And then they were bursting out of the tunnel, side by side. He glared under his visor, angry that this guy had decided to _help_ him or whatever that was back there. But they were back in the open now, with drones swarming above them, so Leandro just focused on finishing strong.

They were neck and neck on the final stretch, gunning their engines for all they were worth.

Red sped up. Leandro sped up to match. He could see the finish line, knew full well that there was a bunch of loose gravel beyond, but the racer in red wasn’t slowing down and like hell Leandro was gonna let some Upper Sector asshole with a _mullet_ beat him.

That pot was _his._

He took the corner too tight, scraping some of the glow-in-the-dark paint off of Blue’s side on the median, but the red driver’s ride was clearly a newer model than Blue with better mods. His opponent could afford to take the corner wide, keeping up with Leandro.

And then it was a straight shot to the finish line. He could feel the adrenaline racing through his veins, feel the wind rushing past his ears, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the red racer as they sped toward the electric white line that would determine the winner of the race.

Leandro leaned forward, not backing down even as the red racer mirrored his pose. They crossed the line and Leandro prayed to every saint that he’d gotten there first.

On the other hand, he had a more pressing matter to be praying to the saints for help with -- he was going too fast. Blue’s breaks screamed as Leandro tried to steer her clear of the loose gravel, already cursing himself and that stupid Upper Sector racer.

Blue skidded across the ground, and Leandro knew he was going to have to bail. They were spinning out of control and the pillars from the overpass were coming up fast.

But he couldn’t just leave Blue. She used to be Marco’s ride, and she was his ticket out of Terra. Leandro pulled desperately on the handlebars, leaning to the right to try to regain control of his bike.

It was hopeless.

Leandro squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for impact, but then someone was yanking him off the bike by the collar and he was falling onto unforgiving asphalt.

The next few seconds felt like they were happening in slow motion. Blue spun away from him, sparks flying in every direction and lights blinking on and off, and then she was connecting with the pillar and erupting in a shower of flames.

And that was that. Blue was gone and so were his chances of ever getting out of Terra.

He whipped around, not surprised to see the red racer had been the one to yank him off the bike.

“Fuck you! You wrecked my bike!”

“What I just did was _save your life_ , asshole. And if it makes you feel any better, Red’s toast, too,” the other guy said, holding out a hand.

Leandro brushed it away, standing on his own and rubbing his ass. Definitely gonna bruise.

Before he could tell his new friend how much that _didn’t_ make him feel better, the announcer’s voice was booming through the lot. Leandro glanced back to see that all of the other racers who hadn’t crashed had crossed the finish line.

“Well, folks, this hasn’t ever happened before, but... it appears that Leandro McClain and Yorak, who some of you might know better as Akira Kogane, have tied for the win!”

A chorus of jeers erupted from the other racers behind them, but Leandro ignored them, glaring hard at ‘Akira.’

“Now we have to split the pot! _Quiznack_ , you’re useless!”

Not good news in the least. Now, he’d be getting even less GAC for his trouble, and Blue wasn’t in the picture any more.

It was over. He was fucked. Screwed. Sentenced to a life of--

“Hey, I don’t give a shit about the money. You can have my share,” Akira said, and Leandro turned to him with a scrutinizing gaze.

Kogane was an unusual last name, though it sounded vaguely familiar to Leandro. And he was definitely Upper Sector... hopefully he was just Altean. Leandro wouldn’t be caught dead with a member of the Galra.

He ripped his helmet off, running a hand through his hair as he tossed the thing aside. _Won’t be needing that anymore._

“I’m not your charity case,” Leandro replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. The other racers were already dispersing and hovercars were taking back to the streets. The race was over. “I need a fucking drink.”

The Balmera was on the other side of the Lower Sector. He wouldn’t be able to get there without Blue. At least there were plenty of other sleazy bars to choose from.

As Leandro started walking back down the street toward the shopping district, he heard light footsteps tap-tap-tapping behind him. He groaned.

“At least let me get you that drink. Come on.”

Leandro rolled his eyes as Akira stepped in front of him, visor still obscuring his face. The guy clearly didn’t know when to back off.

Though, he looked like he could be cute under the visor. And maybe the mullet wasn’t that bad, either. And, well… free drinks are always a plus.

“Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want more of this AU, here's [Akira's character design](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/post/626567156262486016/this-is-my-design-for-akira-go-check) drawn by Rey, and [Leandro's character design](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/post/626566900748566528/d-a-y-o-n-e-c-h-a-r-a-c-t-e-r-d-e-s-i-g-n) drawn by me. Feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed this chapter <33
> 
> Stay tuned for the next update.


	3. First Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandro scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his uncooperative legs as he whipped out his pistols. He heard screeching all around him as other patrons hastily pushed out of their stools, several people running for the exits while several more drew their own weapons and stood their ground.
> 
> He paid them no mind -- he had tunnel vision for Akira, who was rising from his crouched position, holding his hands in the air as he blinked up at Leandro like he didn’t know.
> 
> “You’re a fucking Galra?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up, everyone! 
> 
> Ashka back here with another chapter for this AU. This chapter is based off of the prompt 'First Meetings,' so hopefully we've done it justice. Thank you so much for sticking with this fic so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter <33
> 
> Leandro POV: crapoftheworld ([Tumblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/))  
> Akira POV: ashkazora ([Tumblr](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/))

“You’re pretty good at racing.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“Uh huh.”

Leandro felt a hand on his shoulder, halting his angry march down the alleyway, and he whipped around, ready to throw hands.

“What’s your problem?”

Akira glared, retracting his hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s _my_ problem? What’s yours? I offer to buy you a drink after you wreck my bike and you can’t even be bothered to engage in some small talk?”

“ _I_ wrecked your bike? This might be news to you, _Kogane_ , but the crash was all on you,” Leandro growled, jabbing a finger into Akira’s chest as he got up in his face.

Screw the drinks. Maybe all Leandro needed to feel better was an old-fashioned alley scrap.

Akira shoved him away, hands twitching like he wanted to go for one of those fancy cyber-blades strapped to his back. Leandro moved minutely, easily shifting the throwing knife from his sleeve down into his hand.

“Look, I don’t want to fight you! Let’s just… can’t you be civilized for one second so we can go get drinks and actually talk about this?”

Leandro was about three seconds away from showing Akira just how _civilized_ he could be when a voice flowed out from the shadows of the other side of the alley.

“You boys sound like you might need some help mediatin’ yer conflict.” Leandro turned around to see four thick-set men stepping out of the blackness, wielding pistols and swords. “We’d be happy to lend a hand, but we’ll be requirin’ some payment fer our services.”

He glanced at Akira. Akira was looking back at him, a spark in his eye. Leandro nodded imperceptibly, then flicked his knife into the closest thug’s eye socket.

He dropped to the ground, and for a moment the only sound was the man’s wailing and the faint buzzing of traffic on the main road.

And then the three remaining thugs were yelling, Akira was pulling out his cyber-swords, and Leandro was drawing his pistols, dodging laser fire by running along the dirty alley wall.

It really wasn’t a fair match. Leandro wouldn’t have looked to Akira for help in a fight -- in fact, he’d assumed the cyber-swords were just for show -- but Kogane turned out to be a solid fighter. They ended up back to back, trading blows with the three thugs, switching partners and engaging in a deadly dance.

Leandro shot out a kneecap, Akira slit a neck. Leandro rolled out of the way of a spray of laser fire, Akira gracefully flipped onto a dumpster. The last man standing, the one who was apparently the leader, dropped his weapon, holding his hands up. Leandro had both of his pistols trained at the guy’s face, and Akira was looming behind him, cyber-blades humming menacingly.

“Get out of here, dude.” He didn’t need to be told twice, leaving behind his moaning gang members in his mad scramble to get away from the two racers. Leandro smirked, turning back to Akira. Neither had broken a sweat. “What was that about being civilized?”

“Shut up.”

-

“Yo, barkeep! How about another round?”

Akira groaned, shoving two empty shot glasses away from him and frowning. Leandro had long since lost count of how many drinks they’d had, but he didn’t give two shits since his lovely companion had so graciously offered to cover the tab.

“I think we’re probably good on drinks.”

Laughter bubbled out of Leandro without warning, and he grabbed onto the counter as he nearly tipped off of his stool.

“What, can’t hold your liquor?” he asked, vaguely aware that his own words were slurring together.

“‘Course I can hold my liquor,” the mysterious Akira replied, knocking back another shot that the bartender had _just_ brought out.

Leandro knocked his own back, coughing weakly when he missed his mouth and ended up with a nose-full of alcohol.

“You don’t seem like the partyin’ type, my man. Being a light-weight is nothin’ to be embarrassed about… well, it _is_ , but your good pal Leandro won’t give you a hard time,” he giggled, trying to playfully punch Akira in the shoulder.

He missed, instead shoving an empty nunvill bottle crashing to the floor. The bartender glared at him, but he held his hands up placating and offered his most apologetic grin. Though, he couldn’t quite feel his face, so he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d managed to pull it off.

“I’m _not_ a lightweight. Believe me, I’ve had to drink my way through enough galas to find out.”

Leandro perked up at that, glancing back at his companion with as much interest as his muddled mind could conjure.

“Galas? I was right, you’re _Upper Sector_ ,” he said, taking a swig from a fresh bottle of nunvill and pointing an accusing finger at one of the three Akiras floating in front of him. He hoped he’d picked the right one.

“What, you haven’t heard of me before?”

“Pff, don’t be so full of yourself, man. Plenty of Uppers ‘round here that think money trumps skill.”

“Yeah, but--” Akira looked taken aback for a moment, but eventually he relaxed in his stool again, swirling some bronze liquid around in a clear cup. Leandro didn’t know when he’d gotten that. “You know what, nevermind. Why were you so desperate for the prize money, anyway?”

“Why do ya think,” he grumbled, scratching at a stain on the metal countertop. “Plenty of people need GAC around here, buddy. I need to get outta this dump. Got… family ‘n’ stuff.”

Leandro looked up from the counter to see Akira squinting at him, looking almost constipated. He wondered if that was the look this guy was going for. _Probably not._

“‘M lookin’ for family too,” Akira said eventually. Leandro watched him wearily over the lip of his bottle, noting the pale skin, the scar on his cheek, the… purple eyes? Purple eyes were almost exclusively a Galran trait, though they occasionally cropped up in some Altean clans. “My mom disappeared helping a family escape Lower Terra. Haven’t seen her for like, a _long_ time,” Akira slurred out, dragging out to ‘o’ sound. “Like, six months.”

Leandro hummed, finishing off his bottle and slamming it down on the counter. He was feeling slightly less tipsy now, but by no means was he sober.

“‘S funny, that’s how long my family’s been gone, aroundbouts,” he mumbled, holding up an arm to beckon the bartender back. “I’m fresh out of leads… all I know ‘s they left with some Galra lady, dropped off the grid.”

“Yeah, ‘m -- I’m tryin’ to find some kid, he’s s’pposed to have a connection to my mom’s disappearance. Could be anywhere, though… this stupid sector is huge,” Akira said, spreading his arms wide for emphasis and accidentally knocking a couple of bottles to the ground.

Akira slid out off his stool none too gracefully, kneeling on the floor to try and grab the bottles that had rolled under the counter. Leandro watched him, his vision blurry, but then Akira’s jacket was shifting and he could see a purple tattoo at the base of the racer’s neck. It was an unmistakable symbol, one that appeared on every piece of worthwhile tech and every cent of GAC.

Leandro scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his uncooperative legs as he whipped out his pistols. He heard screeching all around him as other patrons hastily pushed out of their stools, several people running for the exits while several more drew their own weapons and stood their ground.

He paid them no mind -- he had tunnel vision for Akira, who was rising from his crouched position, holding his hands in the air as he blinked up at Leandro like he didn’t _know_.

_“You’re a fucking Galra?”_

* * *

_Ah, fuck._

Akira dropped the bottles to the ground, flinching as they clattered loudly against the synthetic floor. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he watched Leandro focus his signature dual pistols right on him. He had no doubt that if the other boy was to shoot, he wouldn’t miss. Leandro had almost perfect aim, and the race all but confirmed it. 

“What does that matter t’you?” Akira growled out, eyes not leaving Leandro’s pistols. Fingers twitching, he had to suppress the familiar urge to grab one of the swords strapped to his back. 

“The Galra are the reason my family is gone!” Shouting, Leandro waved his pistols in the air, inching closer and closer. “Scum like _you_ probably killed them all.” 

Akira had to give it to the bartender -- unlike the majority of the patrons who had hastily left the bar after Leandro drew his pistols, the dude simply looked up at the two with an incredibly tired expression, before lazily walking to a back door.

If there was one thing people in the Lower Sector knew, it was seemingly keeping their noses out of other people's business and knowing when to scram.

He had always admired that about the Lower Sector, but now? Oh, how Akira would kill for someone to get in between him and Leandro’s pistols. The sudden hush that had descended upon the bar was unnerving, to say the least.

“Are you deaf? My family’s missing too!” Akira said, repressing the urge to match Leandro’s shouting. “Look, I have _no idea_ what happened to your family. Just because I’m, uh, _Galra,_ doesn’t mean I hurt you.” His voice dropped lower, just in case any other patron had a problem with his extended family and decided to take it out on him. 

Staring at Leandro, he had no idea what was going through his mind. Akira hoped that the other boy could sense the truth in his words, and could see past his tattoo and family name. Hell, some of the snobbier Galra would probably eviscerate him for desecrating the family name if they found out he had been consorting with Lower Sector thugs or racing in underground events. 

“Why should _I_ believe _you?”_ Leandro barked out through a clenched jaw. For the first time since they had met Akira watched as a tremor traveled through Leandro’s hands. He couldn’t tell whether it was a good thing or not. 

“Because… because…” Akira racked his alcohol-addled brain, sifting through any excuse he could latch on to. There was something in the corner, half-formed and vague, a thread, an invisible string between both of their backgrounds. He couldn’t decipher it through his intoxicated haze, but if he just latched onto it, then _maybe…_.

“Because I can help you find your family!” Akira blurted out, comprehending the weight of his words only after they tumbled out of his mouth. 

Leandro scoffed, though Akira could almost see a slow crack form in his facade. “And-- and why would you do that?”

Akira shrugged. “Maybe… it’s connected, or somethin’. I dunno.” His body swayed slightly, the uncountable amount of shots and drinks finally catching up with him. “I… uh, you could use the help. I know what it’s like to lose a parent.”

“Are-- are you fuckin’ with me?” Leandro stared down at him, eyebrows cocked incredulously. “Why would you help _me_ , a complete stranger?”

To that, Akira didn’t have an answer. Maybe it was fate, or some shitty cliche that made their paths cross, but something woven intrinsically in his actions whispered that he should help. Despite having a completely different background, way of life, _everything_ really, he felt some sense of familiarity, maybe, with Leandro. Like they were both two lost souls, searching over the same thing in life. Or some other poetic bullshit. 

Akira’s mouth opened once, twice, and then he closed it with a sense of finality. Thick tension lay heavy in the air. He crouched down slightly, gathering potential in his muscles just in case Leandro decided to go in for the kill. Seconds trickled by at a snail’s pace, and with each passing tick Akira became sure that the other boy was going to shoot.

Yet Leandro didn’t.

Slowly but surely, the fight drained out of Leandro’s body. He seemed to deflate in a way, not in relief but in an emotion Akira was intimately familiar with: defeat.

Akira’s hand unconsciously raced to his back, grabbing the hilt of his sword. There was no need, however, as Leandro lowered his pistols, tucking them inside of his belt holster. He turned back to the counter without another glance at Akira’s now battle-ready form, picking up a half-finished glass of brassy booze and absentmindedly sloshing it from side to side.

“Yeah, well, there’s no… there’s no fuckin’ point anymore, y’know?” Leandro slurred, odd eyes focused on the cheap liquor in his hand. In one quick motion he tipped his head back, skulling the rest of the drink in a single go. “They’re gone. And-- and the money’s too. No fuckin’ point.” He slammed his glass down on the counter, making Akira’s own tremble slightly at the force.

Leandro could have said more, but the gears in Akira’s mind were already turning, blocking out the noise from the bar. It was like connecting a red string to different images, a microcosm of a slowly unfolding idea. 

“What if… what if it wasn’t?” Akira said, fiddling with his glass. As he looked up, the drunken film that glazed over the other boy’s eyes seemed to have lifted slightly. Leandro sat more rigid, his previously loose, inebriated posture immediately straightening up.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice rough from their multiple rounds. 

Chewing his lip, Akira paused, debating if he should go on. One part of his brain -- the more rational sober part -- knew that whatever plan he cooked up while intoxicated was bound to be riddled with more holes than a Lower Sector housing apartment. 

Fortunately, Akira never listened to that part.

“‘Kay, so, hear me out,” he said, gesticulating with his hands more vigorous than needed. “What if we got some more money? ‘Nuff for you to, like, find your family.”

For a pregnant moment Leandro simply stared at him. Then, his head started nodding up and down, sending cascades of dark brown curls across his eyes. 

“That… that w’uld help.” Admitting it seemed to be tough, though Leandro managed to force out the words. “But… where? How?”

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but Galra have storage facilities all over the Upper Sector. What if we, y’know…”

“Steal some shit?” Leandro cut in, enthusiastically finishing his sentence. 

A feral, almost blinding grin spread across Leandro’s freckled face, sending a shiver down Akira’s spine. There was something so… determined, so cold yet fiery in his mismatched eyes. He had seen it before, while looking in the mirror. It was the expression of someone who had nothing left to lose.

Maybe that’s why he felt so drawn to this man. After all, Leandro was just some random guy from the Lower Sector who’s bleak future was made only marginally better by his above-average (okay, _pretty good_ ) driving skills. It had been drilled into him from birth that Leandro was inferior to him in every way. There was nothing tethering him and Akira together.

Yet, as Akira spent more and more time in the other’s presence, the more of his former disdain evaporated into some sort of chaotic, volatile friendship. It may have been (read: most likely) the alcohol talking, but he felt more like himself in Leandro’s company than with anyone else he’d ever known, sans maybe Hachiko and Petra. Even with his annoying slang, weird undercut and overt hostility, Leandro wasn’t too bad. For someone from the Lower Sector, that was.

_“Exactly.”_

Taking the last sip of watered-down booze, Akira threw down his glass and gripped the edge of the counter. 

“I know some codes for some of the warehouses. We could get in, get out, and no one would ever know.” To him, the plan sounded foolproof. There were no flaws. None, whatsoever.

“But… we’re gonna need something to get us there,” Leandro started, gazing down at his calloused palms with a thoughtful expression. Akira watched as his face brightened, an answer seemingly dawning on him. “Do you know how to hotwire a bike?”

Akira matched his grin, eyes sparking with wild anticipation. _Hotwiring a bike? Pshhh._ He could do that in his sleep. Hell, him and Hachiko formally met when he hotwired the older man’s bike and took it out joyriding when they were younger. 

“You bet all your GAC I do.”

 _“Perfect,”_ Leandro all but purred out. “What d’you say, samurai? 

_“Let’s do it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter <3
> 
> If you want more of this AU, here's [Akira's character design](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/post/626567156262486016/this-is-my-design-for-akira-go-check) drawn by Rey, and [Leandro's character design](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/post/626566900748566528/d-a-y-o-n-e-c-h-a-r-a-c-t-e-r-d-e-s-i-g-n) drawn by me. Feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed this chapter <33
> 
> This one was a bit shorter than the previous two but don't worry: the next two chapters are going to be absolutely bangers. Get ready for some drunken action and more ;)
> 
> Until next time!


	4. Stealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heavy silence descended on the pair. And then, out of nowhere, Leandro started laughing. Akira watched in a confused horror as hearty chuckles sounded from him, much happier than he had ever heard since he met Leandro.
> 
>  _“Shut up!”_ Hissing, Akira staggered forward with half a mind to hit him over the head. He thought better of it, but the moment he had eyes and hands on the cash he would give Leandro a good old slap. 
> 
> Leandro gave him a guilty smile, moving his fingers across his lips as if he were zipping them shut. 
> 
> _Good,_ Akira thought. _Maybe he’ll finally be quiet for once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all its Rey again :)  
> Long time no see!!! Anyways, me and Ashka are very excited for the next chapter but we had plenty of fun with this bad boy, too!
> 
> As always:  
> Leandro POV - Rey ([Tumblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/))  
> Akira POV - Ashka ([Tumblr](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/))

Leandro stumbled around the corner, waving his pistols around wildly like the drunken idiot he was. They were at the front entrance to some random warehouse Akira had driven them to and they were about to be _rich._

He wondered absently why he’d never just tried allying himself with a member of the Galra, because this was easy cash, but then remembered pretty quickly that it was because he enjoyed shooting them in the face too much.

As he shuffled forward a hand shot out from the darkness behind him and dragged him back into the alley he’d just vacated.

“Hey, get y’r hands offa me! ‘M goin’ to get the money.”

“Slow your role, sharpshooter,” Akira responded, the alcohol in his breath fanning out over Leandro’s sweaty face. “Haven’t you ev’r iflin-- inflira-- infrate… gotten into a building before?”

“Sure I have,” Leandro responded, and even in his drunken state he was fairly aware that he was being way louder than necessary for just the two of them.

“Then you’d know there’re _cameras,_ ” Akira mumbled, peeking around the corner again without stepping fully out.

Leandro looked over his friend’s shoulder and sure enough, there were several cameras covering multiple angles of the front entrance.

“But you said-- I need that money, ‘Kira… why’d you lie?”

“‘M not lying you big baby, we just can’t waltz in the front door like that… we’ll go in another way ‘n’ you’ll get the money.”

Akira patted him on the back, probably an attempt at a comforting gesture, but it just ended up sending Leandro lurching forward and back around the corner. He stood there, dazed, underneath the neon street light, his entire body and face clearly illuminated and in full sight of the cameras.

It took Leandro longer than he’d like to admit to realize where he was standing, but then he turned back to look at Akira, eyes desperately attempting to communicate that he needed some help, _stat._

Akira stumbled out after him, snatching his sleeve and hauling him forward. He crouched in front of the door, rifling through his pockets until he came up with some small stick things that he jammed into the lock on the front door.

“I got a friend, I can get her into th’ system ‘n’ she’ll wipe the… the feeds,” Akira said, gesturing vaguely to the four cameras that were currently trained on them. Akira fiddled with the lock some more and Leandro rolled his eyes, shoving the Galra aside and taking his place in front of the lock. “Hey!”

“You’re pickin’ it wrong,” Leandro slurred, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the comforting closeness of Akira pressed up to his side. The lock released with a _click_ and Leandro smirked, toeing the door open with a boot. “That’s how you do it.”

Akira glared at him, nearly tripping on his own feet as he entered the seemingly derelict warehouse. Leandro shuffled in after him and immediately started coughing as he inhaled a bunch of dust.

 _“Shh,”_ Akira said rather loudly, the sound reverberating around the warehouse. Leandro broke out laughing at that, doubling over and hugging his gut. “Shut up!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Leandro breathed out, struggling to regain his breath.

He followed Akira into a room with several computer monitors and watched as his friend struggled to type some commands on one of the computers. After what felt like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes, the screen flashed green and a cartoon face with glasses popped up. Akira seemed satisfied and stepped away from the monitor.

“Okay, the feeds should be clear, let’s go.”

“Not to-- not to burst your bubble there, Kogane, but there’s nothin’ here,” Leandro hissed as they walked back onto the empty warehouse floor, their feet leaving footprints on the dusty ground.

Akira ignored him, walking to the back of the building and opening a door, wincing as it creaked horribly and revealed a staircase.

“It’s underground, asshole.”

Leandro stared for a second. The staircase was long and dark and his vision was beginning to tunnel. But in the end, he really wanted that money. And they’d already come this far.

“Race ya, mullet man!” he whispered, bolting down the stairs two at a time.

“Are you _insane?”_ Akira whisper-yelled back, stumbling after him down the stairs.

He heard the door above them swing shut, and then the only source of light was from the neon glow of their various weapons and tech accessories.

Leandro grinned even as the temperature dropped in the staircase, the sound of Akira’s ragged breaths close behind him urging him on. He could almost see a square of light down below… just a couple of feet away now…

And then there was a shadow in the staircase and Leandro was freezing mid-step. Apparently, Akira hadn’t gotten the memo and barrelled right into his back, causing him to lose his footing and tumble down the last few steps.

“Ugh… think I broke somethin’...”

“Dude. _Shut up,_ ” Akira hissed from under him.

Leandro groaned as he extracted himself from the pile of limbs, squinting up at the large man they were now sprawled out in front of.

“Uh… hi?”

The Galra man paid him no mine, instead turning to look at Akira, a smirk on his face.

“Drulnak. You’re late for your shift again. And you smell like… did you go to the bar again?”

Akira glanced at Leandro, eyes wide, and Leandro just shrugged, equally confused. He mouthed ‘say something’ at his companion, who quickly coughed a few times, clearing his throat before speaking in an imitation of a deep voice that nearly had Leandro cackling.

“Yes. It’s me, Drulnak. And I went to the bar. Tonight. Earlier. Before my… shift?”

The Galra’s eyes narrowed, but now that Leandro was looking more closely, he could see a cloudy white film over his eyes. _Cataracts._ Combined with the darkness of the staircase… it was a goddamn _miracle._

“You alright, man? And I thought I told you to stop bringing random sleazeballs you find at the bar to work. It’s unprofessional. You can do ‘em after your shift.”

Leandro almost started laughing again but a sharp elbow to the gut from Akira had him choking it back down.

“I’m fine, buddy. But you’re right, I should stop takin’ _sleazeballs_ with me t’ work.”

The other Galra just sighed, clapping Akira on the back as he moved past him and started up the same staircase Leandro and Akira had just descended. As soon as he disappeared into the darkness, Leandro stood, glaring at his companion.

“Was that strictly necessary?”

“Sure it was,” Akira replied all too cheekily, stumbling through the doorway and into the stark white corridor. “Had to keep up appearances, y’know?”

“Whatever, let’s just get the money and get out of here,” Leandro said, shoving Akira aside and leading them down the brightly lit hall.

“It’s always ‘bout money with you,” Akira grumbled, following after Leandro and pouting all the while.

“Dude, what the hell else would it be about?”

They walked in silence for a few moments, and the Leandro paused, squinting at something in front of him.

“‘Zat a trip line?”

“Why the fuck’ld there be a trip line inside a heavily secure building? It’d be outside, idiot,” Akira slurred, continuing to walk forward.

“Wait--” Leandro mumbled, reaching out to grab Akira’s sleeve, yanking him back. He kneeled beside the thin wire on the ground, looking between it and Akira’s face, which was scrunched up in anger. “See?” he said, gesturing at the line. “Definitely a trip.”

And as he said that, his hand slapped the wire, causing several darts to fly over his head, barely missing Akira and embedding themselves in the opposite wall.

“Dude, what’s with the medieval defence measures?” Leandro laughed, probably a bit too light-heartedly.

“We almost just-- and you-- how did-- the fuck?” Akira concluded, after not being able to successfully begin a coherent sentence.

“Looks like you were _wrong,_ ” Leandro singsonged, skipping further down the hall. “Leandro, one, ‘Kira, _nada._ ”

“Slow down, asshole! _You’re_ the one who just found traps!” Akira called after him, and Leandro spun around to watch Akira make his way down the corridor at a snail’s pace, inspecting every tile on the floor before taking overly cautious steps.

“Come _on,_ ” Leandro groaned, marching back and grabbing his protesting Galra friend by the collar, dragging him along. “I c’n spot the traps with my… my, uh… vision! _Good_ vision,” he said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“We’re so fucked,” was all Akira had to say to that.

* * *

Here’s the thing.

Akira thought he was a fairly easy-going dude. Okay, so he was impulsive at the worst of times and yes, he would get frustrated over the littles things. But drunk Akira was usually a lot more laid back!

Unfortunately, Leandro was testing every single one of his limits. 

After managing to dodge three rounds of patrolling guards by rugby-tackling each other out of the way, they tripped another couple of traps thanks to Leandro’s carelessness _and_ somehow completely blew some random fuse by pissing on exposed wires.

Why did he bring Leandro, again?

Akira was forcefully pulled back, crashing rather ungracefully to the metal ground. 

_“Tripwire,”_ Leandro singsonged from above him, looking positively smug about Akira’s pain. 

_Oh._ That was why. 

Unfortunately, Leandro was actually useful. Especially with spotting traps. 

Krolia may have had the schematics and blueprints to most of the Galra warehouses, but she had no plans for any of the traps. That meant Akira was going in blind.

“Y’don’t say?” he quipped back. Leandro offered his hand, which Akira accepted. Reluctantly.

Getting up, the two set off again in their poorly thought out, completely drunken heist. The monotony of walking down blank, nondescript halls started to set in; Akira found himself drifting off more and more into his own thoughts.

What would he do if they pulled this off? Of course, he really didn’t have any use for the money, not that some extra GAC wouldn’t be sweet. Maybe he’d buy a new bike, though nothing could replace Red. Or maybe he would stick around with Leandro for a bit, just to make sure the boy had a lead or two on his family’s disappearance before he set off. Hell, Akira was almost considering doing the same thing -- going off grid to find Krolia.

But that meant he’d have to leave Hachiko and Petra behind. And Dante. And Alzina--

And his point was made. It seemed like Leandro was alone, and as much as Akira wished he were sometimes, he had people that he cared about. He couldn’t just leave…

...Could he?

Akira passed a maintenance closet and absentmindedly turned a corner, so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t survey his surroundings. 

“Watch out!”

Suddenly Akira’s body was being yanked back into a small enclave, one hand gripping his waist, holding him just below where his cropped jacket ended and above where his pants began, and the other was pressed firmly over his mouth. He shivered slightly at the contact -- he could feel the calluses on his mouth and hips.

It seemed like years that he stood in the maintenance closet, deftly aware of the warm body pinned against his back. Akira’s brain stuttered, unable to comprehend exactly what was happening.

From above the laboured breaths of the two boys, Akira could faintly hear muted banging on the metal floors outside. Panic flared through his body, making his muscles stiffen in alarm. The hand on his mouth tightened in response, almost cutting off his breathing. Something seemed to grow closer and closer and closer and--

And then it stopped. All too terrifyingly, silence dawned on him. For too long Akira refused to breathe. Instead of it gripping his waist, it felt like Leandro’s hands were wrapped tight across his chest, constricting his lungs so that even if he wanted to, no oxygen could escape.  
And then, fucking _finally,_ the sound of footsteeps departing graced Akira’s ears. 

_“Quiznak,”_ Leandro softly exhaled, blowing a zephyr of warm air right into the back of Akira’s neck. He must have been completely unaware of Akira’s too-fast beating heart or the way his lungs stuttered back to life, drawing in stunned breaths, as Leandro continued to stand completely pressed up against him, hands still gripping at his waist. 

“That w’s close.”

Leandro’s voice kickstarted his brain back into gear. Without further hesitation Akira detached himself from the other boy’s hold, quickly backing away.

“What was that for?” he hissed. The patches of skin on his hips where Leandro had held him almost burned.

“I saved our lives, dumbass,” Leandro bit back through clenched teeth. If Akira looked closely, he could see a muscle twitch in his jaw. 

Akira rolled his eyes. He went to yank on the closet’s doorknob, but was pulled back yet again.

“Give’t a sec,” Leandro whispered, eyes narrowed at him. “Wait ‘til the coast is clear.”

He shot back a not-so-nice gesture that would have earned him a good-old wack over the head from his mother. Unfortunately, Leandro noticed it even in the near complete darkness of the cupboard and mouthed a long line of insults, some of them in a language Akira couldn’t understand.

After a couple minutes that was mostly made up of some very heated stares and mouthing of various crude words, Leandro _finally_ gave the motion to open the door. With no hesitation whatsoever Akira practically flung it open, desperate to get out of close contact with him.

Those long, cramped moments in the maintenance closet was the closest he had ever physically been to another person in… years. Maybe that was a bit pathetic for someone of Akira’s age but hey, who could blame him? Krolia was never one for contact or even blatant displays of motherly affection, and ever since Hachiko’s accident and gaining of a prosthetic he’d been wary of the very same physical contact.

To Akira, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He didn’t require or even want that sort of sappy, saccharine affection, yet minutes after Leandro had held him Akira could feel lingering tingling on his stomach and lips.

It felt... 

_Weird._

From behind him, Leandro whispered rather loudly, “So where’re we off t’next?” 

_Hmm._ Akira had to give that a bit of thought. They had travelled left from the entrance, then up, then went to the third left. Or was it the third right?

“I think… I think it’s up here. Straight.”

“Y’think?” Leandro retorted. 

He shot an exasperated glare at the other boy. If he wasn’t absolutely shitfaced right now, Akira would have probably given him a piece of his mind. Who knew that people from the Lower Sector were so annoying? 

Or maybe it was just Leandro. Outliers were a thing, after all.

Instead, Akira turned on his heel and started walking down the corridor, keeping an eye out for any more guards that decided to interrupt their heist. 

They turned the corner, and Akira stumbled over his untied shoelaces. He had trouble recalling the exact layout of the warehouse, though as he started to sober up, details became less and less hazy. If he focused enough, he could almost remember the sketchy blueprints strewn across Krolia’s old desk. As smart as the Galra families were, they never altered the layout of their warehouses too much. No one had ever robbed them, so why bother?

“Okay, okay, it sh’uld be, uh…” The skin around Akira’s eyes crinkled in thought. He stopped in the middle of the corridor, body swaying slightly, and bit his lip. He barely noticed Leandro almost crashing into him from behind -- the boy had to swerve sharply and almost trip to avoid smacking into his back. “Left.” 

“Left?” Leandro asked, tilting his head.

“Left,” Akira confirmed. 

Without another moment of hesitation he walked off again, striding down the corridor and turning left when the hallway hit a T-shaped junction. He could hear Leandro trail sloppily behind him, supposed years of muscle memory associated with sneaking around struggling to conceal his heavy footfalls.

“So… when’re we there?” Slurring his words lightly, Leandro stumbled to get to his side. Akira didn’t stop, though he slowed down so that the other boy could catch up. 

“Dunno,” he replied flatly. “Soon, prob’ly.”

Leandro raised an eyebrow. In the harsh fluorescent lights, Akira noticed a small, barely-there scar that bisected his eyebrow. It looked pretty cool, though he’d never say it out loud.

“How’ss soon is soon?”

“Soon.” Akira sighed. 

A heavy silence descended on the pair. And then, out of nowhere, Leandro started laughing. Akira watched in a confused horror as hearty chuckles sounded from him, much happier than he had ever heard since he met Leandro.

 _“Shut up!”_ Hissing, Akira staggered forward with half a mind to hit him over the head. He thought better of it, but the moment he had eyes and hands on the cash he would give Leandro a good old slap. 

Leandro gave him a guilty smile, moving his fingers across his lips as if he were zipping them shut. 

_Good,_ Akira thought. _Maybe he’ll finally be quiet for once._

The pair continued walking, occasionally stopping to let a lone guard pass and even once, knocking a security guard out and stowing them in a similar mantinent closet. Akira claimed that the guard had seen them but really, he just had the urge to hit something. It just so happened that the poor bastard had been walking toward them.

The layout of the warehouse became more and more familiar to Akira as more memories of Krolia’s schematics resurfaced in his mind. Soon enough, he found himself leading Leandro to a four-way junction of corridors, a feature he knew only occurred at the center of the warehouse.

_They were getting close._

Sure enough, after a couple more rounds of dodging patrolling guards and shushing each other after random bouts of alcohol-influenced laughter, Akira noticed the roof sloping ever-so-slightly downward. It was barely noticeable, yet he saw.

Turning a corner, Akira knew they were at their destination. The jackpot. The moneymaker. The ticket to finding Krolia, and Leandro’s gateway to his family.

_The safe._

At a glance the door was unassuming, probably not worth anyone’s time. It looked like most other doors in the warehouse -- a deep, grayscale face with luminescent indigo hinges. But if someone looked closely, they’d realise that it lacked the usual inky-black door handle present on most other entrances in the warehouse and instead had a keypad _and_ a biometric and optic scanner, or that it was about three times as heavy and twice as deep. 

“This is it,” Akira whispered, almost to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Leandro give it a once-over. His odd eyes were narrowed, assessing the door calculatingly. “Doesn’t seem like much. There’s no guards.” 

“The Galra prob’ly weren’t expecting people to rob this place.” He replied rather dryly. “Plus, look closely. There’s cameras all over the place.” 

Akira felt himself being tugged back (for the _millionth_ time that night) as Leandro took his place to peak around the corner at the door. The boy stared at it for a solid minute, before turning back to Akira and letting out a low whistle. 

“You’re right,” Leandro said. “There’s no handle or anything. How are we supposed to open it?”

“It can only be accessed from the inside, or if you have the code.”

Akira watched as a frown spread across Leandro’s face. “So, how were you plannin’ on getting in?”

Now that… that would be an issue, but luckily he had been absently thinking about it ever since they had stepped foot in the warehouse. They didn’t have the biometrics or password needed to get in, nor did either possess any great hacking skills to bypass those locks. (Though, now that Akira thought about it, Petra would have been a good person to take with them for that very reason. Shame he couldn’t ask her to clear the feeds _and_ hack remotely into the safe.)

Akira couldn’t help but grin as he pointed up to a closed-off ventilation shaft right above them. 

“Oh, you bloody legend.”

-

Getting into the vent was, uh, _tough,_ to say the least. The corridors in the warehouse had lower roofs than an open-planned one, yet it was still nine-ish feet tall. Possibly more.

Now, Akira wasn’t the smallest kid in Terra, but he certainly didn’t think he was athletic enough to be able to jump, hit the loose grate, _and_ grab onto the ledge to pull himself up. With Leandro, however, it was another story. He was a couple inches taller (not counting his platformed boots, which added another inch or two), and judging by his unusually long legs Akira bet he’d be able to jump high enough. 

And sure enough, Leandro could.

It took a couple of tries and a few experiments with the run-up distance, but Leandro finally got the hang of it. After he had punched out the grate from its hinges, Akira had first-class seats in watching him crouch down a couple meters away, eyes narrowed in concentration, before bolting up and sprinting up to the corridor underneath the grate. 

Akira’s jaw clenched as Leandro took a powerful leap, soaring through the stale warehouse air with his duster coat trailing behind and easily grabbing the ledge. For some unknown reason, he couldn’t take his eyes of the Lower Sector boy as he hauled himself into the vent.

For someone as lanky as him, Leandro surely had no problem hauling his entire body weight up. That alone was weirdly attractive. 

Shaking his head, Akira tried to rid himself of those thoughts. Most likely he and Leandro would part ways after tonight to never see each other again. He was too dead-set on finding his mother, while Leandro was the exact same with his family. 

He didn’t think of himself as a pessimist, yet Akira knew that was the most probable outcome of their little heist, save for if they were caught by the Galra.

Which, well, was also a _large fucking_ possibility. 

As night went on and he sobered up, Akira slowly came to the conclusion that maybe, just _maybe,_ their plan was a bit… hasty.

Oh well. _Too late now._

“Ya coming?” a voice called from the ceiling. Akira looked up to see Leandro’s cheshire-grin staring down at him with his hand outstretched.

“I, uh-- how am I supposed to get up?”

Leandro snorted. “Isn’t that obvious? You gotta jump.”

Staring at him, Akira hoped that his facial expression conveyed the _‘does it look like I can fucking jump that high’_ mood he was feeling at that moment. Leandro must have understood, because in an instant he was clearing his throat, looking rather sheepish.

“Here, I’ll pull you up,” Leandro began explaining, waving his hands as if it helped to convey what he was trying to say. “Run up, jump, and hopefully you’re not too heavy of a fucker so I can pull you up.”

Akira almost wanted to feel offended by that statement, but eventually decided to brush it off. He was too tired to start _another_ fight. 

Nodding, he backed up to where Leandro started his run-up. In an effort to mimic him, Akira crouched down, then started sprinting just like he did to the vent. Gathering all of the potential energy that he could muster, he leapt up with less than half the grace that Leandro had.

Yet luck was on his side, and _somehow,_ Akira managed to grab onto the edge of the vent. His grip wavered but almost immediately Leandro gripped his arms and started hauling him up. He did _not_ squeal as Leandro manhandled him into the vent, and he certainly didn’t flail his legs like a stuck fly until he was safely placed in the ceiling.

 _Quiznak,_ how did someone as spindly as Leandro manage to haul him into a fucking vent?

“Which way, o’captain my captain?”

He shot a puzzled look at Leandro, but shrugged his strange phrase off. 

“Straight, then take the immediate right. Should be the fourth air vent down.”

Leandro hummed in affirmative, then began to bear crawl through the vent. Unlike how he acted before with switching between non-stop quips, random drunken laughter and out-of-his-mind boredom, Leandro stayed almost eerily quiet. Akira could relate, in a way. The claustrophobic confines of the vent sent a shiver down his spine. And someone with broad shoulders like Leandro, he’d be feeling the small space worse.

The shoulder pads on his duster coat probably didn’t aid that.

It went unsaid between them, yet both knew that they had to crawl at just the right speed. Too slow and the chance of someone discovering that the security cameras weren’t operational would increase. Too fast and someone would hear them moving. It was the perfect balance of restraint and caution. Something, if Akira had to guess, came from years of experience.

Though, there was one sound Akira couldn’t muffle. Pounding in his ears, the boom of his heartbeat seemed to echo in the vents. Adrenaline pumped through his veins; just the thought of getting closer and closer to his way to find Krolia sent an exhilarated chill throughout his body. 

“Hey, ‘Kira,” Leandro’s muffled voice sounded from in front, jolting him from his thoughts. “I think we’re here.”

Akira’s eyes widened. “Shit, really?”

“No,” Leandro said. “ _Yes,_ really. _Quiznak,_ does your mullet not understand sarcasm?”

It was hard to argue with someone when the only thing you could see was the lower body, but Akira still replied back, “It’s not a mullet!”

“Yeah, sure. That’s what they all say.”

He didn’t want to question Leandro over who the ‘all’ were. Better focus on the mission at hand, and _then_ argue about his hairstyle. (Which, but the way, was _not_ a mullet. He had a ponytail, for quiznak’s sake!)

Giving Leandro the good old middle finger, Akira muttered a prayer under his breath to whatever asshole god that decided to put him in this situation. And then, he jumped.

The moment Akira’s feet hit the ground, he knew there was something wrong. The air in the safe felt… wrong. Not musty or thick like a locked-up room should have felt like. Inhaling, he could almost taste something sweet in the air.

He didn’t have time to warn Leandro before the boy jumped down as well, landing rather awkwardly on the concrete floor. It took him a couple seconds for Leandro to regain his balance and straighten his duster coat. He then looked around the inky-darkness of the room. Without the faint glow from Akira’s cyber-swords or Leandro’s piercings, they wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. Hell, Akira could barely make out Leandro’s silhouette. 

“Is… is this it...?” Leandro asked, sounding unsure. “It’s awfully, I dunno, _dark._ Didn’t you say there was a pile of GAC here?”

Akira shrugged, then realised that he probably couldn’t see him. “There should be. I guess--”

Suddenly, the lights in the safe all flicked on, illuminating the room with a deathly fluorescent pallor. Stacked in neat, orderly rows were literal blocks of faux-gold currency, intermixed with the occasional white brick or other random item. Akira had quite literally hit the jackpot, yet that wasn’t what he was focused on.

Immediately, his eyes snapped to a figure standing haphazardly at the opposite end of the room. They leaned against the back wall, yet their height towered over both of them. Their long, moon-white hair seemed to glow under the room’s lighting, making them seem almost ethereal. Yet Akira knew that behind their beauty was a cutthroat viciousness that left none unscathed.

“Fancy seeing you here, Akira,” the figure purred, words smoother than honey yet sending shards of ice digging into Akira’s skin. 

_“Lotor,”_ Akira hissed. Within a second he drew his cyber-swords; the familiar humm of Leandro’s dual pistols told him that his companion had done the same. “What are you doing here?”

The man smiled, exposing oddly sharp teeth. He resembled a shark in a way, his gaze staring at Akira as if to detect any signs of weakness. 

“What do you think, _Kogane?”_ Detaching himself from the wall, Lotor took a light step forward. Akira raised his swords in response. “This warehouse is a part of my father’s empire after all. Why shouldn’t I be here?”

From behind him, Akira heard Leandro cough in surprise. 

“Oh? And who’s this?”

As Lotor took another couple steps closer, Akira could feel his heart beat anxiously in his chest.

“Don’t come any closer!” he yelled. “We’re taking the cash and leaving. Try to stop us and I won't hesitate.” 

Yet Lotor seemed to pay no mind to his words. “Curly hair, tanned skin. _Awful_ clothes. You seem familiar. Have we met?” 

“I think the fuck not,” Leandro growled out. “You heard Akira. Take another step and I’ll introduce you to my little friends.” He waved his pistols slightly for emphasis.

Akira watched closely as Lotor’s smile got a bit wider, a bit faker. He wished he could warn Leandro to shut up. The boy may be fearless, but Lotor was someone entirely out of his league. Hell, even Akira wouldn’t mess with him. He was the son of the most powerful Galra in the Upper Sector, after all.

“Pray tell, what are you doing in my father’s safe?” Lotor asked, barely giving the blasters aimed at his face any attention. If anything, he seemed unphased by them.

Akira opened his mouth, but it was Leandro who answered. “What do you think, asshole? We’re taking back what the Galra stole from us,” he spat out, with more anger than Akira could ever begin to comprehend.

Truthfully, even through his drunken memories tinged in rose wine-coloured glasses, Akira had started to connect the dots between Leandro, his family’s disappearance, and the Galra. Krolia had disappeared just like his family, and almost at the same time too. If Leandro thought that the Galra were involved with their _departure,_ then maybe...

Lotor tutted, knocking Akira from his train of thought. “Stealing from your family? How the mighty have fallen.” 

Fists clenching around the hilt of his cyber-sword, Akira couldn’t stop himself from retaliating.

“Shut up!” he shouted, every word infused with vitriol . “I’m doing this to find Krolia!”

A half-smile grew on Lotor’s face, yet it sent a jolt of fear-- no, apprehension, down Akira’s spine. No matter how attractive Lotor always looked, there was something so slimy about the way he leered at them.

“What are you even doing here?” Akira didn’t ask as much as demanded to know.

The question brought up one of the Galra’s infuriating half-smiles. “Well, I was in here previously when _somehow,_ the security systems went offline. Of course, in an emergency like that, all important rooms are locked down.”

Akira’s eyes widened. _How did he forget that?_ Of _course_ there were more security details in place. 

Yet Lotor wasn’t done with his monologue. “Do you really think your friend’s little camera tricks would work?”

And _god dammit how did he know about Petra?_

“I wonder what this Lower Sector scum will think when he finds out who was with his family when they disappeared.”

It was in that moment that all the red strings in his mind connected. It shouldn’t have been possible, there was no way… it couldn’t be...

Behind him, Leandro stiffened. 

“What-- what do you mean?” he stuttered. When no reply was given Leandro shouted, “Answer me!”

Yet the only answer was the lights suddenly changing from a fluorescent purple to blood red. A blaring alarm pierced their once peaceful silence. Akira flinched; his eardrums felt like they were about to burst.

_No no nonono. This couldn’t be happening._

Not now. Not when they were _so close._

 _How could they have been found out?_ Akira trusted Petra’s hacking abilities; no one should have noticed. Not for a while, at least. 

He snapped back to Lotor, momentarily frozen in place. He barely reacted when Leandro stepped forward, levelling one of his pistols between Lotor’s eyes.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now,” Leandro snarled. 

Lit up by the flashing red lights, Lotor’s face looked downright predatory. He grinned, smile dripping with saccharine intent.

“If you want to escape with my money and not get caught, I suggest that you leave,” he said. And when neither Akira nor Leandro moved, Lotor added, _“Now.”_

Leandro turned back, and Akira could almost see the fear reflecting in his eyes. 

They needed to go. 

_Now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! See you guys in a bit for the final chapter <3


	5. Daring Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But that was a problem for another time. They burst out of the front doors and back into the chill night air. Behind them, a host of Galra were breathing down their necks. Leandro knew he’d heard stomping combat boots and the clattering of guns -- whoever was behind them, they certainly weren’t lowly warehouse guards.
> 
> Before them, the twisting streets and alleys of Terra, ones that Leandro had been navigating his whole life. His back pulsed, as if to remind him of the whole that had been seared there, but if anything it was like the whip at his back.
> 
> There was only one way to go, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S UP DUDES AND DUDETTES!
> 
> Sorry this chapter's come so late. Unfortunately both Rey and I had exams and stuff on so this chapter's been like 99% complete for too many months. But it's finally here! Woohoo! Hopefully the 12k word count makes up for it. And I hope you guys like the ending ;)
> 
> As always, Leandro POV is written by crapoftheworld ([Tumblr](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/)) while Akira POV is written by me, ashkazora ([Tumblr](https://ashkazora.tumblr.com/))
> 
> And without further ado here's the last chapter: Daring Escape.
> 
> -Ashka

_Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck._

Leandro wasn’t entirely sure if he was mumbling his endless stream of curses aloud, since the alcohol had severely damaged his ability to filter what came out of his mouth, but he supposed it didn’t matter much as he tore after Akira through the blinking red halls.

They were like two mad men, skirting around corners as their jackets whipped behind them. And all the while, that Galra man, _Lotor’s_ voice echoed in his head, bouncing around in his skull and torturing him endlessly.

_“I wonder what this Lower Sector scum will think when he finds out who was with his family when they disappeared.”_

He’d been searching for so long, infiltrating Galra bases, questioning and stealing and in some of his lowest moments, begging. Who could his family have possibly been with? _What had Lotor meant?_

Leandro supposed he’d never know now.

He’d felt so many emotions, so quickly. Confusion, rage, and a deep and unsettling fear that had emerged as everything around him fell apart and klaxons assaulted his ears. He didn’t know if he could trust Akira anymore, didn’t know what the hell he would do if he even made it out of this god forsaken complex alive.

Leandro had been lost in his thoughts, panic’s clever claws slowly tightening their grip on his sanity, but then there were footsteps coming from up ahead and Akira was stumbling to a halt, Leandro right behind him.

“Get ready,” Akira muttered, pulling out his cyber-swords once again.

Leandro drew his twin pistols, feeling them hum with life in his hands. He was on the verge of something, he could feel it. On the brink. Things were about to fall apart, and he just prayed that he would be lucky enough to end up in one piece. He held his breath.

The first guard rounded the corner, and Akira swiftly cut him down, the heat of his blades cauterizing the wounds so that the corpse fell to the ground unaccompanied by the typical pool of blood a normal sword would create. The smell of burning flesh rose and hung in the still air of the corridor.

Leandro focused, shaking himself from his drunken stupor. He had time to panic, time to _think_ , but that time was not now. Now, he had a job to do.

More and more Galra guards rounded the corner, and Leandro easily shot them down, dancing around carelessly swung blades and poorly aimed lasers.

Everything was a blur. Bodies were falling to the ground and he could feel a freshly stinging cut, shallow on his forearm. The hallway was filled with the stench of death, and Leandro’s eyes watered with it. But their small scuffle was over and Akira was urging him on, saying something that didn’t quite register with him. Leandro stared at his chapped lips, curving and bending and forming words his addled mind couldn’t parse. Finally, he made one out.

“Run!”

And so they ran, leaving behind a trail of dead bodies in their desperate bid for freedom. Leandro had forgotten that they’d come here with money in on the mind. It felt like lifetimes ago, the race, crashing, getting drunk at the bar. It had all happened so fast -- too fast.

Up ahead, Akira tripped over one of the tripwires they’d passed on the way in, luckily falling flat on his face rather than being caught by one of the darts that had been launched due to his recklessness. Leando hurried to him, yanking him back to his feet. His mind was everywhere but where he needed it to be, but he was desperately trying to pull himself together He had a family to save and to do that, he needed to be alive.

“Which way to the stairs?”

Akira’s eyes were blown wide, and it was like Leandro was looking into a mirror, for a brief moment. All of his fears and anxieties were reflected exactly on Akira’s scarred face, and Leandro realized that he wasn’t the only one in danger of losing everything.

“We-- we went through the air ducts… I don’t--”

“Akira, you _do_ ,” Leandro said gently, gripping his friend’s shaking shoulders. “Calm down. Breath.”

Akira’s eyes roved over him, and Leandro surprised even himself with this attempt to maintain order, in some small way. Minutes ago, he’d been the one panicking -- if he was being honest, he still _was_ \-- but now Akira’s heaving breaths were coming farther apart and the tension was bleeding out of his body, slowly but surely. Leandro felt something too, like a crushing weight being lifted from his chest.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Akira rushed out, and now Leandro regretted their drunkenness. Maybe with clearer minds, with sober thoughts-- “I recognize this hall. We’re goin’ left. Come on.”

Leandro inhaled sharply and followed. It was all he could do.

They stumbled through the long white halls, narrowly avoiding trip wires and clumps of Galra guards. As they went along, Lance’s mind became clearer, less muddied. They whipped around a corner and before them, the staircase stretched on into darkness.

“After you, Mullet,” he said, raising his voice over the alarms as he shoved his curls away from his face.

Akira didn’t hesitate, taking the stairs two at a time. Leandro hustled after him, the puffs of their labored breaths hardly audible. They were almost at the top of the stairs when Leandro had the sudden thought that there would almost certainly be Galra cavalry waiting for them on the warehouse floor.

“Akira,” he hissed, long legs not particularly helping as he hauled himself after his white-heaired companion. “Akira, wait!”

 _Too late_.

Akira burst out of the stairwell and was immediately met with a rain of laser fire. Leandro was pinned down in the stairs, unable to get into the warehouse under such heavy fire.

“Akira! Are you hit?” he called out desperately, peeking up and firing a round from his right pistol.

Two men went boneless, collapsing to the ground with electric barbs between their eyes. Leandro’s pistols were still recharging for more lasers, but luckily Hunare had worked out a secondary firing mechanism that used actual ammo. Leandro doubted his friend had ever imagined him using it in a situation like this.

“I’m okay! I’m going to draw their fire so you can get out of there!”

Akira's voice came faintly floating down to Leandro’s ears, and so he intermittently peaked over the edge of the stairs, taking out any Galra who were too dumb to find cover.

By Leandro’s count, there were at least twenty Galra guards spread out in the warehouse, taking cover behind various crates and appliances. The flurry of motion had distrubed the thick layer of dust, and Leandro could make out the occasional coughing and sneezing of people. One of them could’ve been Akira for all he could see from his place.

True to his word, though, the shouting and firing seemed to shift to the left of the stairs, and Leandro figured it was now or never.

He rose from his crouch, knees protesting as he darted out from the stairwell. He felt his precious seconds tick by as he sprinted through the open warehouse, lasers singing his air and whizzing past his long limbs, but then he was diving behind a large shipping container, a giant plume of dust left in his wake.

“Leandro? Where are you?”

Leandro was able to sort of figure out Akira’s position, and he peaked over to try and -- there, across the floor behind the forklift. A flash of white hair, pale skin, and neon red. Leandro grinned, feeling his pistols humming once again in his hands. He felt his second wind hitting him.

“I’ll come to you, pretty boy!”

Leandro vaulted over the shipping container, taking out the three men who had been employing one of his brother Luis’ old tactics -- spraying and praying. It had never worked out well for him during their water-fights, and it certainly didn’t do those Galra goons any good.

He wove through the warehouse-turned-battlefield, twisting and turning out of the way of danger as if it was second nature. Akira was holding his own on the other side of the building, and all Leandro had to do was shoot down a couple more rich assholes who upheld a classist institution.

_Easy._

Yet even as he told himself that, even as he felt the truth of it flowing through his veins alongside the copious amounts of alcohol, even as he took down Galra guards left and right -- he felt a sort of fleeting shadow in the back of his mind.

He couldn’t say if his doubt had been founded or if the doubt was what had led to it, but he had settled for a careless shot to the shoulder on one of the guards as he moved past. He was focusing single-mindedly on Akira, cutting his way through men like a man possessed. He had almost gotten there, almost found cover behind the forklift.

 _Karma_ . That was his first thought, as a white-hot heat seared through his lower body and he stumbled forward from the force of _a laser shot to the back_. He’d taken too many lives tonight, too many lives in general during his quest to uncover the truth about his missing family, and here was the universe’s answer.

He could hardly see, vision whiting out even as he resorted to blindly firing a spray of lasers, limping his way to Akira. He coughed, and _there_ was something he could see. Red. _Blood._

It was sobering enough, and Leandro would’ve laughed had the situation not been so dire. There were so many things out there to get high on -- drugs, alcohol, murder, the rhythm of lasers bursting forth from the smoking barrels of his trusty pistols.

Leandro grit his teeth, blinking away the encroaching black. _First white, then black._ The world worked in funny ways, he supposed.

Two more Galra down. Akira was beside him now, blood splatters tinting his white hair pink.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Nice hair.”

Leandro could feel blood slowly seeping down the back of his undershirt, but at least he could feel something. He fired his guns and Akira hacked and slashed with his swords, the number of Galra guards dwindling to the final few who fell into one of two categories -- smart, or cowardly.

The alarms were still going off, the sound grating at Leandro’s ears. But Leandro didn’t care -- victory was at hand.

He grinned, motioning to Akira in some complicated gesture that vaguely represented his plan. Akira blinked at him owlishly, but slowly, a cheshire smile slipped onto his face. They split apart, and Leandro stepped lightly as he stalked through the maze of storage crates.

They flushed out the final dregs of what had been a massive Galra army, executing them brutally and efficiently. Leandro was glad to be done with them, but knew they’d spent way too long escaping from the labyrinthine warehouse.

“There’ll be more guards.”

They raced for the door, and just as they made if there was more clambering in the stairwell they had emerged from just minutes earlier. It sounded like a lot more than the twenty-something Galra they had just fought off. There must’ve been more passages underground, connecting more Galra facilities. It made enough sense, and Leandro struggled to wrap his drunken mind around the idea of an entire network of tunnels underneath the city.

But that was a problem for another time. They burst out of the front doors and back into the chill night air. Behind them, a host of Galra were breathing down their necks. Leandro knew he’d heard stomping combat boots and the clattering of guns -- whoever was behind them, they certainly weren’t lowly warehouse guards.

Before them, the twisting streets and alleys of Terra, ones that Leandro had been navigating his whole life. His back pulsed, as if to remind him of the whole that had been seared there, but if anything it was like the whip at his back.

There was only one way to go, now.

* * *

Akira _really_ didn’t want to jinx it, but the night just kept on getting worse and worse. 

Now outside of Lotor’s warehouse, block’s surrounding buildings seemed to loom over him, taunting him with claustrophobia for his series of unfortunate mistakes that lead to that night.

Sprinting desperately away from the slew of dead bodies he and Leandro left back at the warehouse, Akira tried to rid his mind of the image of broken bodies and sightless eyes. Sure, he had seen blood before, but never had he taken down a horde of assailants so efficiently.

From his peripheral, he quickly glanced at Leandro. The boy seemed to be in a similar state to him, disheveled and coated with odd splatters of blood and sweat. It could have been the shock, yet there had been an odd warmth that grew in Akira’s stomach. 

_They made a good team._

And somehow, he didn’t shy away from that fact.

Clumps of blood-spattered hair blew in his eyes, obscuring his vision. If they got out of this alive, he’d have to bleach his hair -- unfortunately, blood stained white hair, a fact he learned after a gruesome hoverbike race.

“This way,” Leandro said from beside him, inching slightly ahead so that Akira could follow his lead. They turned down a street, continuing their mad dash away from the Galra. 

Internally, Akira thanked whoever bothered to look over him as Leandro navigated them through the Lower Sector. They weaved in and out of streets and buildings, hurtling down the darkest alleys and through the most obscure Lower Sector streets. Every so often they’d come across a group of Galra patrols which caused them to double back or even take them out.

But as the night wore on and as the moon started to lazily set, he and Leandro were forced to evade more and more. Akira had to sheath his blood-stained cyberswords after his arms became too heavy to wield, while Leandro’s sprint morphed into a pained hobble. 

He couldn’t see any wounds, yet Akira knew something was wrong with him. 

Unsurprisingly, what little energy the two had left had almost completely dwindled away after who-knows-long running. Akira estimated that they were a handful of kilometers away from the warehouse, but it wasn’t enough.

He barely noticed Leandro lagging behind until he looked back, spotting the boy a few metres away.

“Come on!” Shouting, Akira stumbled back and practically pulled Leandro’s arm out of its socket. For some reason, Leandro’s sprint slowly but surely began to slow down where Akira knew he usually had the stamina to keep on running. They had to hurry up, or the Galra would catch them.

Distantly, Akira could hear the alarms from the warehouse wail into the night.

 _Fucking hell._ They were well and truly screwed. He could basically say goodbye to any prospects of finding Krolia or hell, even his freedom. The Galra were relentless to anyone who dared cross them, and ruthless especially to traitors in their family.

 _Maybe that’s why Krolia’s gone_ , Akira thought bitterly. _Maybe she fucked up too._

He could almost feel her disappointment weighed upon his shoulders. Throughout his life Krolia had always been forgiving to his many, _many_ screwups, but he had a feeling this time, he’d gone too far. And that?

That terrified him.

“‘m going as fast as I can!” Leandro said, his voice breathless from running. 

“Well go faster!” Akira shot back, barely sparing the boy a glance as they continued to weave in and out of the Lower Sector alleys. Yet the longer they ran, the more and more he started to lag behind. Eventually he and Leandro were neck-and-neck, powering through the lactic acid that had quickly built up in their muscles. 

It didn’t take long after that for his stamina to run out. As they rounded in on a dilapidated alleyway, Akira halted midway, chest heaving in exhaustion. Doubling over, he sucked in air like his life (quite literally) depended on it. 

_Holy_ _quiznak,_ did his body hurt. In that very moment, Akira wished that he had invested in something useful, say, long distance running training, rather than any of the martial arts lessons he had when he was a kid. It _so_ would have come in handy right then..

Looking up through sweat-plastered bangs, he saw Leandro in a similar position, though looking a little less worse for wear. Akira’s breath hitched as he had stripped off his duster jacket and tied it around his waist, revealing broad shoulders and freckle-covered arms. 

He would have eyed Leandro for longer but the pain from exhaustion kicked in harder than ever; Akira’s head drooped down, swaying slightly as he couldn’t muster the energy to keep the muscles still.

With a sinking thought, Akira realised that they couldn’t go like this. Running away simply wasn’t sustainable. The Galra no doubtedly had hovercars and bikes at their disposal -- no matter what he or Leandro did, it wouldn’t be enough to get away. The Galra would track them anywhere in the city.

“We… we need to go…” he wheezed out, not bothering to look up at his friend..? Rival? Fellow thief? Truthfully, Akira had no goddamn clue what their relationship was. To him, it seemed to be a hastily-wrapped amalgam of barely similar goals hinging on a mutual want of chaos.

“Go where?” Leandro answered with none of his usual fire, “If… if you haven’t noticed, we’re pretty much cornered.”

Akira would have laughed if he had spare breath to give. “We’re screwed, huh?” He said, words tinged in a bitter inflection. Knowing that they had been _so close_ made it all that more heartbreaking. 

“Completely and utterly _fucked.”_

Odd eyes met purple, and This time, Akira couldn’t help but to laugh hysterically. It was almost funny how screwed they were. 

For a long moment neither boy uttered another word. Concentrating on getting his stamina back, Akira took a few seconds to breath, and to get his heartbeat under control. 

For the first time in too long, he felt… out of control. Like nothing he could do would even matter. He had stuck his neck out too far and now - just like Krolia - he was paying the price. Even worse, not only were the Galra hunting him but Leandro as well, and while Akira may have enough money to _possibly_ lay low and bribe someone into getting him out, Leandro had nothing. No family, no bike, no money.

He looked back over at the Lower Sector boy, pity curdling in his stomach. 

If- no, _when_ the Galra caught them, there was a small, tiny, infinitesimally minute chance that Akira wouldn’t end up with a plasma bolt to the forehead. Sure, he’d be in deep shit, but he had known Lotor for almost all of his life. The white-haired bastard was cunning and cruel even as a child, and unlike the reputation his parents had as merciless with more blood on their hands than a stabbing victim, his way of dealing with _problems_ was more manipulative. The Galra were big on family; Akira wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up indebted to Lotor for the rest of his life, or something. 

But Leandro?

He was nothing. A nobody. Some random streetracer from the Lower Sector who had no family, money, or to someone like Lotor, reason to live.

He’d be dead in a ditch if they didn’t get going. 

Akira fiddled with his ring, twisting it over and over as he stared off into nothing. Streams of disjointed _thoughtsideasworriesfears_ cut into him like shards of glass. And then--

\--he saw it.

Parked at the end of the alleyway, painted black as to be unassuming in every way, it was something Akira would normally turn his nose at if given the option to ride. Given both of the boys track record with crashing hoverbikes as the idea started forming in his mind, it would be almost dumb to suggest it.

 _But…_ At least it was something.

“Hey, Leo,” he called, not bothering to waste breath in saying his full name, “you can pick a lock, right?”  
Leandro’s head swiveled around, staring at Akira with a raised eyebrow. “Uh, _yeah,_ ” he said, as if it was obvious. “Why’d you ask, _‘Kira_?”

Akira glowered at him, but held his tongue so as to not start another spat. Mutely, he pointed over Leandro’s shoulder, watching as the boy followed his gaze to the parked hoverbike at the end of the alleyway. 

“Do you think you could hotwire a hoverbike?” 

With a pained grin, Leandro nodded jerkily. “Definitely,” he said, with none of his former cockiness. It seemed that the reality of their situation had kicked in for him too, and that he had just realised how truly screwed their situation was.

“Then what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

-

Revelling in the feeling of the wind blowing through his bangs, Akira revved the engine of his totally-not-stolen hoverbike. He could almost feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, though it wasn’t from the thrill of the ride.

No, his heart was practically ebating out of his chest because of how fucking _terrified_ he was. 

After Leandro had hotwired the hoverbike, they had a small, uh, _disagreement,_ about who would drive the hoverbike. He argued that since he was the one to hotwire it, it should have been him to take the (metaphoric) wheel, yet Akira refused to relent on the driver’s seat, asserting that Leandro had drunk a lot more than him at the bar, thus it would be safer to have him drive.

Even as Leandro claimed that he was completely sober (which he seriously doubted, by the way -- not even the most experienced alcoholics could be fully sober after a fuck-ton of drinks), Akira claimed that he needed him to have his hands free; if the Galra were to strike, hIs dual pistols would come in handy.

Eventually, Leandro hesitantly relented, but not before demanding that Akira tie his hair up so it wouldn’t whip him in the face. It was a compromise, he claimed. 

It only took a couple minutes of bickering for them to decide where to go, or rather, where to avoid. They couldn’t go back to the Upper Sector for the surveillance there was too widespread and high-tech, nor could they head into the denser parts of the Lower Sector for fears of being spotted by paid-off Galra police. 

And so a mutual decision was made to ride the back alleys and abandoned quarters of the Lower Sector _hoping_ something went right for once. 

Knowing their track record, Akira wouldn’t have been surprised if everything went to hell. Hachiko always called him a pessimist, though he liked to think of himself as more of a realist.Realistically, he and Leandro were screwed. And that was simply a fact he had to deal with.

Krolia was like that too, once upon a time. He didn’t have memories of her before his father had left, yet everyone always used to comment how alike they were. From personality to demeanour, the only difference between him and his mother was gender, really, and Krolia’s more pronounced Galra genes. 

Come to think of it, in the months leading up to her disappearance she had been unusually… happy. Or, at least, a lot more optimistic than Akira had ever seen her. It was almost as if his mother had been hopeful about something. Someone.

Blinking harshly, he tried to rid himself of those thoughts. They were dangerous, too dangerous, especially since Akira needed his entire energy channelled for the mission at hand. 

Yet the moment he had banished the rose-tinted memories of his mother from his mind, the world decided that it wanted to distract him as much as possible. Somehow, Leandro’s arms had snaked their way around Akira’s torso in a way eerily reminiscent of their little adventure in the warehouse maintenance closet. Even through the copious amount of fabric between them he could feel Leandro’s body pressed against him, every contact point burning hotter than embers. 

Akira clenched his jaw and shook his head, trying to stay focused. The stolen hoverbike had a vastly different – and clunkier – control system compared to his trusty Red; driving it took more of a conscious effort than he had expected. And with the extra weight of Leandro and the boy’s inability to sit still for more than a minute, driving the hoverbike was proving more and more of a challenge. 

But a hoverbike was a hoverbike, and Akira certainly wasn’t complaining. Whoever owned it before had taken surprisingly good care of it. It lacked modifications, but the engine ran smoothly and for some random hoverbike parked in the Lower Sector, it had great acceleration. He had even christened the hoverbike with a name, Black, in honour of its completely matte black surface.

Even hours after the crash, he still hadn't fully mourned his trusty Red. Akira prayed to the stars that Petra wouldn’t eviscerate him once she found out he had destroyed their pride and joy. 

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Leandro cut through the silence, his voice partially obscured by the roaring of the passing wind.

Akira scoffed. “Of course we’re going the right way,” he said. “How bad do you think my navigation is?”

“Dude, I didn’t mean _that_. It’s just, we’re in the Lower Sector now, and I’m pretty sure you don’t live here.” Leandro retorted, though not unkindly.

He had a point. Akira didn’t live anywhere near there.

“Remember that I’ve won a bunch of hoverbike races? _Lower Sector_ hoverbike races?”

_“Ohhh.”_

Akira gave himself a little self-satisfied smirk. While he was no native to the dirty streets of the Lower Sector, years of racing illegally gave him at least some knowledge of directions. That, and as part of his schooling he had been forced to memorise the main parts of Terra, which included all the different sectors and key landmarks of the Lower Sector – not that there were many, of course.

“I think we’ve lost them.” Leandro piped up from behind. Akira could feel the pressure of the boy’s body detach from his back, and frowned. As the bike wobbled slightly from side to side, he knew Leandro was probably looking around for any signs of the Galra.

“We still need to keep an eye out. The Galra are slippery bastards. They’ll find us if we don’t keep moving.”

Leandro chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, trust me _, I know.”_ He said, dark undertones lacing his laughter. While Akira had no idea what Leandro did as a job, he had a faint inkling that this wasn’t his first time going up against the Galra.

Though, Akira thought, it was definitely Leandro’s first scuffle with Lotor.

“Then you should know that they won’t stop until they’ve found us.” Akira replied, momentarily taking his eyes off the road to glance back at him, then quickly refocused as he felt the hoverbike swerve slightly. “We stole from them., and I doubt they’ll forget that.”

He felt Leandro shrug in response. “I’ve hidden from you guys before. I think we’ll be fine.

“Your funeral.” Akira replied. 

He truly hoped that Leandro understood that not only did they steal from the Galra and get caught, they stole from _the_ Galra. Akira would have rather fought a swarm of wasps than face Lotor’s wrath.

Akira heard it before he saw it. A mechanical whirring buzzed in his ears, grating in his head with the familiar white noise. A neon purple shined in his headlights, filling his mirrors and visor with a sickly indigo glow.

_You’ve got to be kidding me._

The glow grew larger and larger in his side mirror, until the whole pane lit up with a purple-hot laser. The sound of cracked glass echoed in Akira’s head; within a nanosecond the mirror had been blasted off. 

“Fuck!” Leandro shouted, immediately unclasping his hands from Akira torso and grabbing his dual blasters. Akira totally didn’t mourn the loss of contact, but as Leandro turned his torso and started shooting at whoever blasted the rear window off, he decided it wasn’t so bad. “We gotta get a move on, stat!”

 _Couldn’t his night get any worse?_ Akira bit back a frustrated growl. He clenched his fists around the accelerator, willing the hunk of metal to drive faster.

“What do you think I’m doing, idiot!” He shot back. From the corner of his eye he saw a stray laser blast approaching from the other side of the hoverbike, and had to swerve tightly to avoid it.

From behind him, Akira could hear Leandro’s pistols went off almost rapid-fire, punctuating the leonine roar of the hoverbike’s engine with a non-stop hum.

Akira’s eyes narrowed as he forced himself to focus completely on his driving. The road ahead of him (if it could even be called that – the Lower Sectors roads were more like bitumen and gravel hastily cobbled together than real roads) stretched far enough to drive straight for several kilometres, yet he knew that he had to shake off the Galra as soon as possible, or sooner or later they would eventually land a hit on the hoverbike.

“Hang on tight,” Akira yelled, praying that Leandro could hear him.

Waiting until the last moment, Akira jerked right on the handlebars, sending Black into a sharp drift. Leandro let out a surprised yelp as the hoverbike got dangerously close to the ground; Akira quickly yanked the handles up and clenched his fist on the accelerator, narrowing his eyes as Black hurtled down an alleyway.

A bolt of satisfaction jolted up his spine as he heard the familiar sounds of metal crashing into walls. Akira grinned darkly. He was the reigning champion of the Lower Sector hoverbike races. No brainless Galra could ever beat him in the only thing he excelled at.

 _“Quiznak_ ,” Leandro exhaled, letting out a breath Akira didn’t know the boy was holding. “are you trying to get us killed?!”

“Shut up and shoot straight!” Akira retorted.

“Kinda hard to do that when your driver doesn’t know how to drive in a straight line.”

Akira face pulled into a tight scowl. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see you drive!”

The sound of laser blasts echoed in the alleyway. Before Leandro could respond, Akira turned the hoverbike around another sharp corner.

“Fu- _ahhh!”_

And despite the situation, the threat of death looming in over their heads, _everything,_ he couldn’t help but smirk at Leandro’s terrified shriek.

Adrenaline pumped through Akira’s veins like motor oil in an engine as he willed the hoverbike to go faster and faster. Leandro’s screams quickly morphed into an exhilarated cheer as Akira weaved in and out of alleyways, drifting around corners so tight that each turn left a crash of Galra pursuers in its wake. Hell, had even heard Leandro cheer a couple times at a particularly gruesome pile-up.

Real classy move from Leandro there, but Akira would be a hypocrite if he judged him. With every crash, the unyielding weight of their night’s actions slowly eased up as the prospects of them actually escaping become more and more tangible. 

Akira could almost taste the freedom. 

Despite how vow to stay focused, he couldn’t help but wonder what he would do after all of this. Obviously he couldn’t return to his home -- Lotor had definitely blacklisted his name within the Galran families by now, and Akira wouldn’t have been surprised if some sort of surveillance was set up around his apartment. 

There was no going back. Not anymore. 

A frigid sadness crept up Akira’s spine, sending shivers cascading throughout his body. No matter how much he disliked living in his high rise apartment, it was still home. 

It was where Krolia raised him, where he first came out to Hachiko and where he met Dante for the first time. It had years of memories stored away within its polished walls, hidden troves of secrets from both himself and Krolia. 

It was then that Akira realised how wholly lost he was in the world. 

A loud series of triumphant whoops knocked Akira out of his musings. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, only to be met with the sight of Leandro waving his pistols in the air like a complete maniac.

“Did’ja see that?” Leandro shouted, his face stretched into a wide grin. “Those Galra fuckers didn’t stand a chance!”

Akira couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his antics. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Leandro’s hand gesticulate with every word, pistols whipping through the cool Terran air. There was something so… endearing, about the way Leandro could stay so high-spirited in the midst of a life-threatening escape.

“Oh course I didn’t, dumbass,” Akira shot back, swerving the hoverbike to avoid another laser blast. “I’m driving.”

Chuckling, Leandro replied, “Well you better watch this one, then!”

From the non-blasted rear window, Akira watched as the boy raised his pistol and in three shots, brought down three pursuing Galran hoverbikes. His eyes widened as he heard the sounds of crumpling metal and carnage over the roar of the hoverbike’s motor.

Thank _quiznak_ he was allied to Leandro. If he wasn’t then, well…

Akira had no doubt that Leandro was skilled enough to put a laser through his head.

The game of cat and mouse continued for almost too long, where Akira weaved in and out of incoming Galran fire while Leandro retired their laser blasts with a vigour Akira had never seen in him before. He lost count of how many hoverbikes they had destroyed, how many Galra they had killed.

That didn’t mattle. The only thing that counted was them escaping the Galra. 

And they were close, so _fucking close._ Akira could see the wall separating Terra from the outside – all he had to do was shake off the Galra stragglers still on his tail then he- no, _they_ could leave this all behind. They were so close.

Akira heard it before he saw it. A mechanical whirring buzzed in his ears, a cacophony pf white noise buzzing between his eyes. From the corner of his visor a single bolt of purple grew closer and closer. Leandro’s pistols went off, once, twice, and an exploding head seared at Akira’s back, but it was too late.

Something jolted underneath him. Akira’s eyes widened in horror.

_Oh, f-_

Something red, fiery hot _burned_ at his arms and legs. A shockwave flung his body off of the hoverbike like he was some sort of ragdoll, sending him back-first into the brick alley wall. The impact knocked all of the breath out of him, but his vision whited out before he could feel it.

His whole felt… numb. Static crackled through every cartilage, every muscle. For a blissful second Akira merely existed in an endless cacophony of meaningless noise.

And then--

_Quiznak…_

God fucking quiznak. Cheek to the gritty pavement, Akira moaned as pain coursed throughout his body. He fought to keep down his breakfast as his stomach lurched painfully.

Raising a shaky hand, he clutched his head and moaned as a wave of nausea shook his body. When he pulled his fingers away, something sticky and crimson red stained them. A small keen slipped past his lips.

For a moment, Akira didn’t know where he was. How did he get here? He… he was at the ball… Hachiko and Dante had been there… and- and…

And suddenly, everything rushed back to him. Petra’s upgrades. The hoverbike race. The crash. Breaking into the warehouse. Leandro.

_Leandro._

Akira lurched forwards, then gagged at the movement. Oh _hell_ did his entire body hurt. There were aches and pains in places he didn’t even know existed. But he had to get up. Had to get moving.

Had to find Leandro.

When he was little, Krolia had taken him just outside Terra, where the desert met the great walls separating the city from the outside. She showed him a dinky little shack in the middle of nowhere, and just… sat inside. Eventually, Akira had gotten bored and left his mother to explore the great unknown.

Of course, he was a young a dumb kid who had no sense of direction and had gotten lost within the first five minutes. With no food, no water, and wandering outside of the city, Krolia found him collapsed on a sand dune, unconscious from heatstroke. For years, the only thing Akira remembered from that day was the bitter, angry agony that irritated his skin, that scalded every molecule of his being.

But trying to stand up? The agony he experienced that day had nothing on the effort it took just to haul his broken body up.

Trying not to stare down at the glass shards embedded in his skin or the still-flaming bits of debris strewn along the alley, Akira slowly but surely hobbled his way into a crouched position, almost standing up. Panicked thoughts rushed through his mind at a million miles per hour – were the Galra still coming? Had they managed to escape? Or would they—

Akira froze.

Something- no, _someone_ had collapsed meters in front of him, body laying prone on the floor. _It couldn’t be_ , and yet above the charred clothes and dusty hair, he recognised Leandro as clear as day.

Back to the wall, slumped over and clutching his midsection like his life depended on it, yet there he was. His signature duster jacket lay almost shredded to the side; hoverbike parts and broken glass surrounded Leandro like a sick halo of destruction.

And then Akira looked closer, to the ruddy liquid that tricked from the boy’s lips, to his unmoving chest. His whole world seemed to freeze; panicked tendrils of ice-cold fear gripped at his chest.

 _No no no,_ this couldn’t be it. With every passing second, he expected Leandro to get up, to flash a finger gun and say something utterly insufferable, yet he lay still, unmoving, head bowed down as if he was merely sleeping.

Limping over to him, Akira barely noticed the rivulets of sweat and tears running down his face as he shouted, _“Leandro!"_

* * *

Leandro groaned.

He’d already beens shot earlier at the warehouse, but the pain had faded to a dull ache and luckily, the laser had mostly cauterized the wound so he hadn’t been _too_ lightheaded.

They’d driven for hours, at least what felt like hours to Leandro. And for a little bit, he had really believed they’d gotten away from the Galra. At least for that night. Ideally, Akira could’ve dropped him off at the Balmera or even his old home and he could’ve patched himself up.

This, though. Definitely not ideal.

The explosion, getting flung off of the bike, crashing into a brick wall. The impact tore open his wound and he ended up with a gut-full of shrapnel from the demolished bike to boot.

His mind was stuck right now, in an endless loop of _pain_ that burned red hot, red as the blood that was pooling around his broken body. He really couldn’t feel his legs anymore. He didn’t have the strength to move, to crane his neck and make sure Akira was alright.

And there was a ringing in his ears, high pitched and incessant.

Leandro was hurting, but he was so fucking _terrified_ that the pain almost didn’t matter. He was bleeding out in an alley and his only ally was probably dead and there were Galra right around the corner and he couldn’t fucking _see_.

His body jerked suddenly, like it wanted to obey him and flee, to run back into his missing Mama’s arms. He needed to get away, he’d _crawl_ away if he could, but nothing was working right and the slight movement his body had managed felt like it was shredding his organs to ribbons.

He coughed and tasted copper.

“Aki-- ‘Kira!” he called weakly, though he didn’t know what he expected. He still couldn’t hear anything.

Then he felt gentle hands on his face, wet with blood or tears or more likely, both, and the simple touch had his entire body relaxing. He inhaled, but the shuddery breath caught as he felt it pulling strangely on his chest and he coughed again, trying his best to turn his head and avoid spitting up blood on Akira. The ringing slowly abated, and Leandro could hear his friend’s panicked words.

“--dro! Leandro! _Please_ , come on, snap out of it!”

It took Leandro a lot more effort than he would ever admit, but he managed to bat Akira’s hands away and smiled through crimson-stained teeth.

“Quit your fussin’, Mullet.”

“Oh, fuck, Leandro! Come on, we have to-- shit. There’s so much blood...”

“It’s my-- my stomach. And… probably my back. Also, my head.” Leandro blinked sluggishly, watching with the sort of detachment only a dying man could possess as Akira peeled his shirt off of his stomach, wincing at what he saw. “Wha’ about the Galra?”

“They don’t matter right now. Can you move?” Akira said with a hardened resolve that left no room for argument from him.

“Maybe--” Leandro began, attempting to push himself off of the ground and immediately yelping in pain, collapsing on the dirty floor again and sending waves of agony through his body. “ _Fuck!_ This isn’t gonna work.”

“Hey, hey, no, we’ll be fine. I can help you up, and then we can get out of here, and we’ll--”

“Akira, shut up,” Leandro said breathily, staring up at Akira’s panicking face and finding that he was kind of amused by his poorly-timed optimism. But he could also see black dots steadily encroaching on his vision and felt a shiver work its way through his body. He was running out of time, and even though Akira refused to acknowledge it, it was time to face the music. “Leave me and go.”

Leandro held up a hand, coving Akira’s mouth and the indignant reply he knew was waiting within.

“Just listen to me for a second, hot shot. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t-- I’m toast. I’m already toast. I got… shot back at the warehouse. I’ve lost too much blood. You can leave and I’ll, y’know, hold ‘em-- hold them off or whatever.”

He grinned tiredly, removing his hand from the stunned boy’s face and finding that he left a bright red handprint there. He stared into purple eyes and hoped that he was conveying what he was feeling. _We don’t both have to die tonight. Not for my mistakes._

“Fuck you!” Leandro was caught off guard by the sudden fierceness from Akira, and the fact that it was directed at _him_. “After all of that bullshit, you’re just gonna give up? Like that?”

“I’m _not_ \--”

Before Leandro could finish his rebuttal, the sound of revving engines cut him off and his mouth snapped shut. They were out of time.

Akira’s eyes widened, but instead of running off down the alley like Leandro had told him, he bent over and maneuvered Leandro’s unresponsive body so that he was gripping him by the armpits, and then Akira dragged him down the alley and behind the dumpster.

Leandro was certain that he screamed. The shards of metal in his guts burned inside of him and he swore he could feel his flesh tearing, his organs being ripped apart. By the time Akira settled them behind the dumpster, Leandro’s head cradled in his lap even as the sound of Galra engines grew louder and louder, Leandro could hardly make out the other boy’s face through the haze of tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had to-- I couldn’t just--”

“I told you. You should’ve left. Now we’re both dead,” Leandro hiccuped out, relaxing into the warmth of Akira’s arms despite the fact that he was bleeding to death behind a dumpster, waiting for the rich assholes he’d just robbed to come and exact their revenge.

“You’re an idiot if you thought I’d ever consider it.”

Leandro noticed how Akira didn’t bother to argue over the ‘we’re both dead’ part.

The engines cut off. The sounds of boots slapping asphalt drifted down to them. Leandro could hear footsteps hurrying down the road, closing in on their location. He shifted, pawing at his pockets and eventually, after a lot of pain, coming up with his pistols. They were humming in his palms, and he felt them calling to him, but instead he handed them up to a confused Akira.

“Shoot ‘em for me.”

Akira nodded grimly, peaking over the top of the dumpster and down the alley. The Galra hadn’t found them yet, but they’d found the wreckage of their stolen hoverbike. Leandro could hear them murmuring into earpieces and receiving orders.

Leandro held his breath even as Akira inhaled and exhaled with deliberate evenness, holding a single pistol in two hands rather than dual wielding. He was using the top of the dumpster to steady his aim, keeping watch of the alley mouth.

Leandro had always hated waiting. So he spoke.

“My mom, she was the one who taught me to shoot. Started with real-- real guns, with bullets, you know? Me and Rachel and… Veronica ‘n’ Marco ‘n’ Luis… we all shot at cans. Dad never approved,” he coughed out, laughing ruefully.

Akira’s eyes hadn’t moved from where they were trained straight ahead, but Leandro knew he was listening. He kept talking, feeling a sudden desperation come over him. He was the last Sanchez -- he had to tell Akira everything before it was too late.

“Marco-- Blue was Marco’s, first. He was the racer. Mama always told him-- said he needed to work, get a real job… but it was just as a matter o’ principle. I think-- think she was proud.”

Akira squeezed the trigger twice, and Leandro gulped. The sound of two bodies thudding to the ground was followed by a tense silence. They both knew what was coming next. Akira glanced down, making brief eye contact with Leandro, and he could see some tears in his friend’s eyes after all.

They were going to die.

And Leandro wasn’t entirely sure what overcame him as Akira ducked down under the first barrage of purple laser fire, but they were face to face and Akira had beautiful cheekbones and delicate skin, and his hair was soft as it tickled his cheeks and those magenta eyes weren’t like all of the other Galra -- they had a sort of sparkle to them, like they would glow in the dark.

Leandro could hear the yelling and the laser fire, smell melting metal and coppery blood. But all he could see, all he could feel, was Akira. And he thought that was far as dying went, maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad.

He surged up, closing the distance between them and sealing their lips in a desperate kiss. Akira seemed surprised for only a moment, but then he was leaning into it and they were pressed as close together as their beaten and bruised bodies would allow, the dumpster the only thing separating them from death-by-lasers.

The kiss was overpowered by the taste of blood and alcohol, but it was the most exhilarating thing Leandro had ever felt. He wanted more, wanted to consume every inch of Akira’s being, wanted to just live in this moment for the rest of eternity. He could forget about his missing family, the Galra, the pain in his back and stomach, the Galra soldiers a mere fifty-something feet away. He held onto Akira like his life depended on it, and he figured that maybe it did.

* * *

When Leandro pressed his lips against his, Akira’s brain seemed to bluescreen. In that moment he could barely decipher between where one thought ended and the next began, an endless stream of _ohquiznakhe’skissingmewe’reabouttodiebuthe’skissingme_ repeating over and over.

But then… Akira kissed back. And it was everything and nothing like he expected. 

Clinging onto the back of Leandro’s duster coat, he wished he never had to let go, wished that it didn’t take a horde of Galran soldiers for him to kiss the other bot. The insatiable heat that _scorched_ in his gut seemed to burn hotter than any still-bleeding wound. Nothing mattered in that moment. 

He savoured the remnant taste of cheap liquor and tangy blood, and when Leandro pulled away, he already mourned the loss of warmth. 

The heavy _thump_ of military-issue boots spurred something inside of him. Akira took time - precious time - to really look at the bot in front of him. Despite the blood and glass that coated his body, Leandro couldn’t have been more perfect. From his matted mahogany curls to his odd eyes, Akira couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

Of all the ways to die, being gunned down in the hands of the most attractive boy he had ever seen didn’t sound so bad.

“So I guess this’s it.” Leandro slurred, eyes glassy.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Akira said. HIs mind felt as empty as his voice.

Something warm intertwined itself between his fingers, and he didn’t need to look down to know what it was. He squeezed Leandro’s hand, hoping it would reassure the boy.

But what was there to reassure? The Galra soldiers were barely ten metres away, indigo-accented guns raised and ready to fire if he or Leandro happened to move even an inch. If the soldiers didn’t kill them now, they would haul their asses back to the Galran headquarters, where Leandro would no doubtedly be killed - or worse.

And Akira.. he couldn’t bear to think of a world without Leandro. 

He had only known the boy for a couple days yet the moment Leandro stepped into his life Akira felt some sort of a connection that he seldom had with anyone else. Despite the hilariously series of unfortunate mishaps that had plagued them every step of their time together, Leandro's presence was something Akira refused to let go. Even if Leandro’s life slipped through his fingers like sand in an hourglass he knew that no matter what, he'd hold on until the end.

As the soldiers advanced closer and closer, Akira knew that their time was almost up. 

He closed his eyes, cradling Leandro’s head closer to his chest. For a moment he simply focused on the blood-mattered locks of Leandro’s hair or the way Akira could feel the other boy’s slow, almost silent heartbeat. 

_I’m sorry, Hachiko,_ Akira thought, _I’m sorry for not calling you back, I’m sorry Petra for leaving you alone again, Krolia, for not finding you, I’m sorry I’m sorry-_

The thrum of a blaster cut through his thoughts. He held onto Leandro tighter.

And then-

_Bang._

Akira opened his eyes as a deafening discharge pierced through the air. The soldiers paused, only to be shot down moments later as a flurry of golden-yellow laser blasts hit the Galrans in quick succession. 

It felt unreal, yet somehow, within only a couple seconds, all of the soldiers had been gunned down. Surveying the masses, a chill went up Akira’s spine as he saw their lifeless bodies. 

_What… what happened?_

He couldn’t comprehend it. It was as if his mind refused to process the scene in front of him. Did someone save them? Or were they rescued from death only to be placed in a much worse situation? Truthfully, he had no fucking clue.

The dust started to settle and it was only then did Akira spot a hoverbike hurtling towards Leandro and him. In a blur of greens and yellows, he barely had time to flinch before it was only raced across the barren street and shot directly towards them. Ten meters, it didn’t stop. Seven. Six. Closing his eyes he braced himself for impact and then--

_Nothing._

Tentatively, Akira blinked, only to see the hoverbike skid to a halt. It barely made a noise as it parked directly in front of them. Its motion kicked up dust again but as it started to settle, Akira could finally make out the shapes of who saved them. 

The one driving the bike -- dressed head-to-toe in dark protective gear with a helmet matching the bright-green bike -- seemed oddly familiar despite the lack of any identifying details. Their short stature was dwarfed by whoever it was sitting behind them. They were decked out in a similar outfit with a yellow helmet instead, yet they held the largest blaster Akira had ever seen in their meaty paws. 

Whoever these people were, Akira owed them his life. 

Blinking, he surveyed the riders and their bike with great interest. You could usually discern what type a person was from their bike and gear. Yet it wasn’t their clean, new-looking gear that caught Akira’s eye, but the four hundred pounds of metal between their legs. 

With dark-plated metal and neon green accents, the overall shape of the hoverbike was not dissimilar to Red’s. Hell, the handlebards and interface seemed to be a carbon copy of his late bike. Gnawing in his stomach, suspicion spread throughout Akira’s body like wildfire. 

Akira squinted. He… he recognised that engine. And those infracell upgrades. And--

“Need a hand?” The one in the green said, with a tilt to their voice that made Akira’s eyes widen.

_Holy shit. It couldn’t be-_

“Petra?” He breathed out.

“You betcha,” Petra said, taking off her helmet to reveal mussed-up hair and a shit-eating grin. “Did you really think I wouldn’t track y’down after you trashed my bike?”

Akira flinched. Technically, it was his bike, but a voice in his head told him that arguing would only make it worse. 

“We- we need to leave,” he cleared his throat, almost gagging when he tasted blood. “Leo needs medical attention. _Now._ ”

Petra’s brows furrowed, before a comprehension dawned on her face. 

“Wait, what’s wrong with Leandro?” The person in yellow bellowed. Akira almost shrunk back as their massive figure loomed over him, casting an almost shadow over his and Leandro’s bodies. “What have you done with him?!”

All of what little blood Akira had left drained out of his face. Tightening his grip around Leandro’s waist, he hunched protectively over him. 

“H… Hunare..?” Leandro croaked. 

The person - Hunare - gasped. They practically ripped their helmet off, revealing a face that did _not_ match their- no, _his_ deep voice. He had an almost-chubby face, soft chestnut eyes, and an expression that instantly softened into horror as his gaze landed on his friend. His expression said everything. 

_“Quiznak,”_ Hunare swore. In one sudden motion he leapt off the hoverbike, crouching down near them. “What happened?”

“Hoverbike crash. He’s also been shot.” Akira said, words spilling out of his mouth. Hunare’s lips pressed into a thin line.

 _“Quiznak._ And you?”

Akira blinked, taken aback. Why would this random person give a fuck about him? Wasn’t Leandro more important?

“Uh… glass cut me up real bad. That’s all.” 

He tried to give Hunare a reassuring smile but it felt more like a grimace. 

“Okay. Okay okay okay. We gotta hightail it. Like, _now,_ ” Akira watched Hunare ramble, barely aware of what the boy was saying. “I’ll take Lea. Think you can hold onto me while we leave?”

Whatever jerky motion Akira did, Hunare must have interpreted it as a yes. He offered a hand up which Akira took gratefully, wincing as the dozens of cuts and bruises chafed against his clothes. Once he was somewhat steady he walked (or shuffled, really) to Petra, trying to ignore the pain that radiated from every part of his body as he climbed on the seat.

In one swift motion Hunare scooped Leandro up and carried him to the hoverbike. As he sat down on the end the bike dipped slightly.

When Leandro barely reacted to his friend’s touch, a bolt of fear leapt up Akira’s spine. They needed to get medical attention. Stat.

“How…” a sudden wave of nausea swept over him. He had to blink a couple times before his mouth could translate the words he wanted to say. “How’re we going to get away? The Galra will track us like before.”

Petra scoffed. “Do you really think I’m _that_ dumb?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “After you wrecked my beautiful bike, Hunare and I decided to make a couple… adjustments.”

Even though Hunare was behind him, Akira could practically feel his excited grin. “Cloaking tech! She’s talking about cloaking tech.” 

_Holy quiznak._

He knew Petra was smart, but _cloaking tech?_

One day, that girl would rule the world. 

Without a further word Petra chucked her helmet back on revving the engine back on.  
  
“You might want to hold on. I’m not a very good driver!” 

And before he could protest, Petra gripped the clutch as hard as she could, sending the hoverbike hurtling down the alley. Looking over her shoulder, Akira watched as she fiddled with a gage on the handlebars. As it was dialed up both the hoverbike and its passengers became more and more translucent, until he couldn’t even see his own body.

“What… how…” Akira stammered, “Petra, that’s _amazing.”_

“Hey!” Hunare cried in indignation, slightly jostling Leandro’s body against his back. “I helped! Give me some credit.”

 _Huh._ An itch nagged at the back of Akira’s mind.

“How, uh, do you guys know each other?”

He had to grab onto the sides of the hoverbike as it turned sharply. Once they hit another patch of straight road, Hunare answered.

“Well, funny story actually,” he chuckled, “Petra and I met on an online messaging board discussing infracell modifications. We got into a small fight over the theoretic capacity of infracells and it got so heated we started private messaging. Long story short, she was right but we started talking about other things!”

Akira blinked once, twice. _Well that cleared nothing up._

“Oh! We also traded ideas for hoverbike modifications! That accelerant you had in your bike? That was me.” Hunare said rather smugly.

“That… makes sense?” Akira said, his statement sounding more like a question. “But how did you guys, y’know, save us?”

“Uhhh…” Averting his eyes, Hunare shot a guilty look at his friend. “Well. After Leandro wrecked his bike and ignored my calls I texted Petra to vent a bit--”  
  
Petra cut him off, picking up the story with her own perspective, “We had a little bitch sessions where I may have spilled all your secrets - sorry, Akira - but then I realised that Hunare’s story seemed familiar--”

“And we realised who each other were!” Hunare finished with a self-satisfied smirk. “When you asked Petra to help cut the camera feeds in that Galra warehouse she asked me to help, and imagine my surprise when I saw you and my best friend staggering around drunker than a mule.”

Akira cringed, praying to the stars that there weren’t any security cameras in those maintenance closets. Petra certainly did _not_ need any more blackmail material against him. 

Head reeling from their explanation, he tried sifting through all of the information that Petra and Hunare had just given him. Yet connecting their stories in his mind just spun more knots and tangles in his metaphoric red strings. Though there was one thing for certain: Akira was truly lucky that he had survived this long. 

_What a coincidence,_ really _._ Come to think of it, he and Leandro’s hoverbike mechanics knowing each other wasn’t that big of a surprise if Akira thought back to the race. In the world of illegal hoverbike racing it was almost impossible to have two bikes similarly made. Garage modifications and the ever-changing underground trade of spare parts, blended fuels and dozens of other upgrades meant that no two racers ever had the same specs. 

From what little he saw of the hoverbike before it had crashed, Blue had almost exactly the same engine as Red, and a similar base design as well. While his bike had a lot more experimental tech going for it, Leandro’s looked a lot more mechanically sound.

The most damning evidence of all was simply the fact that Leandro lived in the Lower Sector. There was no way the boy could afford such a well-made bike (if his frayed cloak and worn undergarments were anything to go on). Yet if he had a mechanic who knew Petra, someone who could make the best modifications out of a few scrap pieces of metal, what HUnare said wasn’t so surprising.

“Huh,” Akia said. “That’s… cool. Thanks for saving our asses.”

In the rear mirror he saw Petra grin. “T’was our pleasure.”

Now that had been answered, a question still nagged at the back of his mind.

“Where’re we going?” He asked, then frowned as his words came out slurred. Sure, cloaking technology could get them away from the Galra, but for how long? How long would it be until they came for Petra, for Hunare? How long until everyone that Akira had ever loved would be brought down by his mistakes?

They turn down a nondescript Lower Sector street, and it’s only then that he realises how close they are to the edge of Terra.

Not taking her eyes off of the road, Petra answers, “I know a place just outside the walls. It’s far enough from any surveillance that we should be left alone for a while.”

That… that was a relief. No one ever went outside of Terra’s walls - lest they wished to survive. Past the city was simply a wasteland, too desolate for the Upper Sector officials to bother with any surveillance. 

Yet Akira couldn’t allay the anxiety that still thrummed in his veins. What if they were somehow tracked? What if they were caught leaving Terra? What if-

As if he’d noticed Akira’s concerns, Hunare reached over Leandro’s slumped body, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Hunare beamed with a positive smile that could be seen through his visor. “You’re- we’re safe now. We’re almost there.”

But Akira didn’t believe him. He was still on edge even when they left the Lower Sector, even when they left Terra through a concealed tunnel in the walls, even when they left Terra behind in the haziness of the desert. It was only when Petra parked her hoverbike outside a _familiar_ shack with Hachiko standing outside, arms crossed and looking stern as ever, did Akira let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

He was safe.

-

Leandro survived. 

Thankfully.

With one look at the broken boy Hachiko forgoed his usual spiel after Akira would do something wrong and dragged him inside. Many bandages, a bout of mild fever, and a couple days later Leandro was back on his feet with nothing more than a puckered scar to show for it.

He had been lucky. The bullet had missed his ribs and any important organs. No shrapnel or fragmentation, it had stayed completely intact in Leandro’s torso. 

Akira almost wished it had been worse, because the moment Leandro was stable, Hachiko decided to have a little _talk_ with him.

And by talk, he meant lecture. 

For what seemed to be hours Hachiko went on and on about ‘putting others at risk’ and ‘not making dumb decisions while drunk.’ Like always, Akira smiled and nodded, and crossed his fingers behind his back when his brother asked if he’d do it again. They hugged it out like all good brothers did; Hachiko could never stay mad at him for long. _Sucker._

Apparently, Lotor had indeed come for his brother after he and Leandro had been caught. A half-dozen or so Galra soldiers were set up outside his house, effectively trapping him inside. Luckily, Hachiko managed to slip out at night and made his way over to Petra’s house. At that point Petra and Hunare had already met and when they went to save Akira’s ass, Hachiko made his way over the desert shack just in case the Galra had tracked him to the house. 

All of the explanations made Akira’s head spin. Yet somehow, despite the shitty, convoluted mess they were in, he almost understood. 

And now?

Now, Akira waited. 

He didn’t know what for. A sign, maybe? Something telling him where to go, what to do next. He sure as hell couldn’t go back to Terra but where else could he go. There were so many questions that he couldn’t find the answer to. 

Where was Krolia? Where was Leandro’s family? 

_Where was his place in the world?_

Akira blinked, banishing the belariness from his eyes. Sitting up, he dislodged a loosely threaded blanket from on top of him and looked around. It had been almost a week since he’d arrived at the shack; within the first couple minutes it was clear that whoever lived in it prior did not intend for more than three people to live there.

There were three rooms - a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living area. As he recovered Leandro got the bedroom, meaning he, Hachiko, Petra and Hunare were all regulated to the living room. 

If he had to go one more night enduring Hunare’s snores, Akira would go mad. 

...anyways. 

Surveying the room, everyone looked thoroughly asleep. If he listened close enough, he could hear Hachiko mutter something in his sleep, while Hunare happily snored on the couch. 

Akira shook his head. He wouldn’t be able to go to sleep for a while, not when his mind felt so awake. Shucking on his cropped jacked, he made his way over to the separate bedroom, rows furrowing when he saw the bed empty.

 _Looks like confinement got to him after all_ , Akira thought. It didn't require many skills to guess where Leandro had gone off to.

Quietly as he could, he snuck out into the corridor and opened the door.

Immediately Akira was greeted by the harsh dusk climate of the desert. A dry, heavy heat lingered in the air, weighing down on the layers upon layers of clothes that he wore. Not even a hand could shield his eyes from the harsh sun. 

Taking a step forward, thousands of tiny gransuals crumble under his feet -- a foreign sensation from someone who spent their lives on pavement and metal. If he thought hard enough, Akira could almost remember faint wisps of memories slipping through his fingers like sand.

Akira scanned the horizon, trying to ignore the miniscule ball of anxiety that grew with each passing second. Through the glare of the setting sun it was hard to see anything yet in the distance, on top of the tallest sand dune, a small figure sat hunched over in the sand. 

As he approached the figure, Akira could make out a familiar blue turtleneck, cargo pants; even though their back was turned to him, he could almost imagine their lopsided grin.

Only a couple feet away, he startled as they began to speak.

“I know you’re there, Kira,” Leandro said, not taking his eyes off of the horizon. 

Akira snorted. He could never sneak up on him. WIthout answering, he walked over to Leandro and kneeled down next to him.

“It’s good to see you up and about.” Akira replied. “Didn’t think you’d be walking so quickly.”

Leandro shrugged, waving one of his hands vaguely. “It takes more than a bullet to knock me down.”

 _Ha._ That couldn’t have been more correct. Somehow he survived a motorcycle crash, numerous fights with trained Galran guards, _another_ motorcycle crash and being shot almost fatally. Either luck was on Leandro’s side, or he was _really_ resilient. 

The pair lapsed into silence yet the static tension that usually buzzed between the two of them fizzled out into something more… familial.

Turning away from Leandro’s face, Akira watched the sky with squinted eyes. Dazzling rays of brilliant golds and reds punctured the once-azure sky, surrounding him with a cacophony of warm hues. The sun hung lazily, setting below the sea of infinite sand at its own languid pace.

“It’s beautiful,” Akira whispered. Unlike in the Upper Sector, where sunsets were obstructed by looming high-rises and the Terran wall, the view was completely empty. It was just them, the desert, and the sky.

“Yeah.”

The way Leandro’s voice fell flat rubbed him the wrong way. It’s a cruel difference from the animated tone he was so used to.

“So, uh…” Akira itched the back of his neck, an awkward tic he never grew out of. “where do you think you’ll go?”

Leandro’s brows scrunch up, accentuating the harsh slit that went through his left temple. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t really go back to Terra, can you.”  
  
“Oh.” 

_Shit._ He must have said something wrong, as Leandro’s face falls into a closed-up expression that Akira knew all too well. 

“Yeah…” 

There’s another beat of silence, then, “My family is still out there. Somewhere.” Leandro said. Whether he realised it or not, blood languidly trickled down his palm from how hard he was clenching his fists. “Now that we’re out of Terra, maybe I’ll have a shot of finding them.”

“That’s--” Akira started, only to be interrupted.  
  
“And you? You need to find your mother, right?”

The question momentarily stumped him. A week ago Akira would've been able to answer it. But now?

Well, Leandro was right. He _did_ need to find Krolia. It had been his goal for months now; he couldn’t abandon his only blood relative.

Though that didn’t mean he had to run away from everyone. Not now. Now again. 

“I think…” He took a deep breath. “I think I’ll do the same, y’know? Go find my mum. Apparently she helped a family leave Terra. Maybe I’ll find ‘em too.”

And when Akira looked back at Leandro, he was met with a smile. 

“What a coincidence. I knew a Galra helped my family escape but if it was your mum? Man, that’d be fuckin’ wild.” Grinning, Leandro stared at him with more hope than he had in days. 

A startled laugh left Akira. _Quiznak,_ he’d have to keep Krolia away from Leandro if they ever did meet. There was no way the boy’s slurs would survive her wrath. 

“We’re so dumb, aren’t we?” 

He caught Leandro’s eye. Immediately they both dissolved into a small fit of laughter. ‘Dumb’ didn’t cover it. Perhaps obtuse. How Akira didn’t immediately connect Krolia’s disappearance to Leandro’s family was beyond anyone’s guess.

It was a shame it took a bullet wound to figure it out.

Trying to stifle his laughs, Akira turned to his companion with a waving expression of seriousness.

"Do you reckon it’s fate that we met?” He asked.

Leandro made a show of touching his fingers to his chin before snorting. 

“Nah. But it was some real good luck that we did.”

_Yeah. Luck._

Akira was real fucking lucky to have met him. 

He had only known Leandro for less than a fortnight but somehow, the two had forged a bond in blood and metal; ethanol and gunfire. Shared pain, drunken histories -- it knitted something between them that Akira couldn’t unravel even if he tried. Their lucid kiss seemed to have finalised it like a seal against wax, molding and permanent. 

No matter what happened, Akira knew he’d have Leandro by his side. 

He doesn’t realise Leandro’s fingers are intertwined within his own until a small squeeze jolted him out of his thoughts.

“I wonder what’s out there.” Leandro murmured, sapphire eyes transfixed onto the almost-night sky. Akira knew that the sight was beautiful but watching Leandro? No measly sunset could ever compare.  
  
“Well,” Smirking, he said, “there’s only one way to find out.”

And hand in hand, Akira and Leandro staring into the sunset, watching the final sliver of glow dip below the horizon. 

There was a whole world and a new hoverbike waiting for them. 

_ **the end.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO! THAT'S IT! THAT'S THE END!
> 
> I hope you guys like it! I can't speak for Rey, but I'm sure we both agree that this fic has been so fun to work on. lidtsi has been an absolute journey, but now it's finished. Will there be more? who knows. But for now, just imagine Leandro and Akira riding off into the sunset. 
> 
> I'd like to give a massive shoutout to Rey/crapoftheworld who wrote this with me. It's been an absolute pleasure to collaborate with them.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading. Feel free to leave a kudos and comments, as comments always inspire us to write more!
> 
> If you liked this fic, you can check out my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/ashkazora) or [Twitter,](https://twitter.com/azorashka) and Rey's [Tumblr!](https://crapoftheworldblr.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Again, thank you for reading this fic. It's been a pleasure to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the next update :)


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